Forging a Nation: Flames
by Bronze Cat
Summary: A girl and a boy, both with a traitor's blood in their veins, must find their place within the new world their King seeks to create. Eagle feathers fall like blood drops, whispers grow in the West, and, no matter how high the flames rise, there will always be a shadow in the corner of the room. Both their fathers were traitors and they are their fathers' children.
1. Prologue

**Welcome to the second volume of _Forging a Nation._ If you haven't already, please read the first _Ashes_ , which can be found on my profile. Let's get started, shall we?**

* * *

The Ettinsmoors were silent.

They were a cruel and unforgiving collection of hills across the northern borders of Narnia, grey and grim. The only civilisation here was a small town in the southern hills, also called Ettinsmoor, and the city of the giants.

The fires of the giants burned bright across the valley from the Narnian camp. They had refused to swear fealty to Caspian X, the new King of Narnia, and so the army had travelled north in response. The skirmishes had raged back and forth for days with no hopes of a victory for either side. Now each army waited for dawn, for with dawn came a parley and a meeting between the leaders of each army.

A figure emerged from the cluster of tents surrounding the one in which the King of Narnia slept and made its way towards the cliff edge. It paused for a moment on the precipice, gazing across the valley at the roaring flames of the giants, and then turned and made its way further up the hill the Narnians were encamped upon.

It tripped over something and crashed to the ground in a torrent of swears.

"Lorrin? Is that you?" a voice said out of the darkness.

"Yes. What on earth are you doing out here?" he asked, managing to right himself. "I would have thought you unable to leave the King's side, Lady of the Bow."

He could just about see her in the dark, sitting against a rock, her legs outstretched before her. It had been her legs that he had tripped over. Her eyes flashed orange in the giants' firelight as she glared up at him.

"Are you mocking me?" she snapped.

Ah, there was that oh-so-charming turn of character she had inherited from her father. Not that he was completely without fault; he had inherited many traits, both good and bad, from his own father.

"Of course not, Isadora," he replied with a sigh. "If I may call you Isadora. I recall one occasion when we were children and you insisted we all call you "my lady" because you were of a higher station than the rest of us."

She laughed once, a hollow sound. "If I remember said occasion correctly, I kicked you on the shin when you refused to do so," she said.

"You were a lovely child," he said with a terse smile.

For a moment she said nothing, returning her fiery gaze to the giants' camp across the valley.

"I am out here, alone, because I have found in the past months that I require more and more time to be alone with my thoughts," she said slowly. "I have somehow found myself as the Lady of the Bow, Caspian's advisor, and I have to think, think, think. I'm expected to have answers when no-one else does. Every moment alone has become precious to me."

"I know your situation well," he said. "Or have you forgotten that I am now Lord Lorrin Sopespian of Beruna. I too am expected to advise Caspian and _think, think, think,_ as you put it. The Axe of the River's Run, that is mine. It's very pretty."

She ignored that final comment, instead staring up at him standing over her.

"You were there, weren't you?" she all but whispered. "Did you see your father die too?"

In an instant, he was transported back to the riverbank. He once again stood on the bridge, staring in confusion at the golden-headed girl and the lion facing down the retreating Telmarine army.

It was _the_ Lion. The Lion from his childhood that he had met in the depths of the How. He knew Him as well as his own face even though he had not seen Him since he was a little boy. He threw down his sword and tried to push through the other soldiers around him; desperate to reach his father and convince him to call off the attack.

Then the Lion roared, a roar that shook his very bones and sent him tumbling into the waters of Beruna. And he was forced to watch as the river came alive and swallowed his father whole.

"Yes," he said grimly, on the clifftop in the Ettinmoors, as he was tossed and buffeted by the river of his memory.

She stood and faced him. One half of her face became bathed in orange and the other was cast into shadow.

"I am out here because as soon as I stop thinking for Caspian," she said, spitting out each word with more and more venom, "all I can see, over and over, is your father plunging Queen Susan's arrow into mine."

With that, she turned and left him. He watched her retreating back closely to ensure she returned to her tent.

"Both our fathers were traitors," he noted to the night air, "and we are our fathers' children."

After a short climb, he was at the summit of the hill. Beside a small mountain spring, he waited.

"You are late," a voice said coldly. He stiffened as he felt a blade pressed to his back.

"I was detained," he said.

"We saw. Was that her?"

That was a second voice. Female, he had never heard it before. He tried to look back but the blade dug in a little further and he faced the front again.

"Yes," he said grimly.

"You had better move faster, Lorrin. You cannot touch Caspian without first eliminating Isadora," the man said.

"I need more time. She does not trust me."

Something soft was pressed into his hand.

"Then make her," the woman whispered. "We'll be watching."

The pressure in his back vanished and he became aware that he was once again alone.

He breathed out slowly and then lifted up the eagle feather, as black as the night sky above him.

"We are our fathers' children," he repeated softly.


	2. Attempting to Regain Normality

"What did we do before the War?" Isadora asked.

"Which one?" Caspian asked. "We've now fought two."

"Oh. So we have."

They were both sprawled across couches in Caspian's private apartments. Barely ten minutes had passed since their horses had clattered back into the castle. They had made their excuses and retired to his rooms. Their exhaustion was so complete that they had not even removed their boots or armour – just thrown themselves at the nearest comfy surface.

Caspian had only been King for four months but it already felt like a lifetime. The days had fast blurred into one endless nightmare of battles and negotiations.

Someone knocked on the door.

"Nobody's here!" Isadora called jokingly.

"Very amusing, my lady," Cornelius said as he entered the room. Before leaving for the North, Caspian had appointed his old tutor as the Royal Secretary. While the army had marched towards Ettinsmoor, the old tutor had stayed behind to sort out some of the legal and bureaucratic mess left in the wake of the revolution.

Isadora and Caspian pulled themselves into vague upright positions as he placed a stack of papers on the table and pulled his glasses from his pockets.

"While I appreciate that you have only arrived back from the Northern campaign, there are a great many matters which require your attention sooner than later," he said. "Luckily, your uncle was a frugal man so the treasury is in no danger. However, we do have a number of seats upon the Council which require filling as soon as possible. I have arranged for a meeting of the remaining Lords at noon tomorrow; please compile a list of candidates to propose for each post."

As he flipped over the first piece of paper, Isadora stifled a groan and suppressed her desire to slump to one side and sleep her troubles away.

* * *

Despite finally being back in her own bed, she had one of the worst night sleeps of her life. Her bed felt too soft after her month in a bedroll. What's more, she had not yet moved to her new quarters near the Royal Apartments. She was still in her family's old rooms and the silence was slowly killing her.

She kept expecting to hear Marisela giggle or Ghaliya sing. Her parents' bedroom was worst of all. To go in there, to see all her parents' clothes and her mother's jewellery lying in their places, was like a dagger plunging into her heart and dragging down into the wound already there.

The morning could not have come quick enough. She dressed quickly and left; praying she would never have to return to those silent set of rooms.

Cornelius had set out some guidelines to help acclimatise her to her new Lordship (or was it technically a Ladyship?). In the office only recently occupied by her grandfather, she settled behind the desk and began to read some of his documents on Meadowholt.

It was a pretty little village in the south of Narnia that lay only a few leagues from the border with Archenland. On three sides it was hugged by an extensive wood and the fourth faced miles of fields and meadows dedicated to the production of the kingdom's grain. Isadora had many fond memories of visiting the manor house there. It was a comforting building built in the Archenlander style and it had been where Lady Prunaprismia had spent her childhood and early adolescence. The locals only had kind words to say of the Scythley family.

Isadora was dreading having to step into the shoes left by her maternal family.

From the room next door there suddenly came a crash and a voice swearing. She abandoned her own work and ventured round cautiously to see Lorrin standing mournfully amongst fluttering piles of paper.

"By the Eagle, it's a mess in here," she said.

"Yes. Father was not the most organised when it came to paperwork," he said. "If you think this is bad then you should have seen his bedchambers. I don't know how Mother put up with it; no wonder she spends so much time up in Redhaven."

"I'll help," she said, moving into the mess. "What do you need?"

"Just sort it for now. Put anything to do with Beruna here," he said, handing her a box, "and anything to do with his lord's duties in here. Anything else I can chuck, I suppose."

The going was slow. The sheaf Isadora was currently sorting through seemed to be composed of letters ranging from shortly before her birth to approximately six years ago. They were not organised in any way at all, instead having just been thrown together into an impossible pile.

When that pile was sorted, she tried to reach for another but sent it tumbling down onto the floor. She swore and bent to retrieve them but paused as she saw something amongst the parchments.

From inside one of the now-open envelopes, she pulled a long, black feather.

"Where did this come from?" she asked, lifting it up to show Lorrin.

He frowned. "Where did you get that?" he said. She held up the envelope and he took it off her. His brow still furrowed, he read the document inside and then stuffed the whole thing into the inside pocket of his jerkin.

"It's rubbish. I'll deal with it later," he said dismissively.

"Lady Isadora? Are you down here?" a new voice called.

"In Lord Sopespian's office!" she answered.

A gentle-faced faun stepped into the little room and bowed politely. He was dressed very neatly in a black waistcoat with golden embroidery. A small set of spectacles sat on his nose and he held a clipboard and a quill in his arms.

"My lady, my lord, my name is Hywel and His Majesty has appointed me as Head of the Royal Household," he said. "Lady Isadora, I have come to enquire as to your new handmaiden. His Majesty has expressed a wish to integrate the Old Narnians into castle life and this is an excellent opportunity to do so. I have compiled a shortlist of young ladies of varying species for your attention. Would you like to conduct interviews? I can handle the matter if you would prefer."

She frowned. "Oh, no. No, I don't need a maid at the moment," she said.

"My lady, your rooms, your dresses," Hywel said, his eyes blinking rapidly.

"I can take care of my rooms by myself for now and I doubt I will need help with dressing for a while," she said, kindly but firmly. "If and when I need help then I promise to find you. What I and Lord Sopespian here could really use is a secretary or some sort of clerk to help us shift through all these documents."

"I will have a word with Dr Cornelius immediately," the faun said, jotting a note down on his clipboard.

"Thank you," Lorrin said. With a smile, Hywel bowed and left them.

They stayed working for a little while amongst the letters, still sorting and tidying, until noon rolled around and it was time to attend Caspian's meeting.

Despite it being the inaugural meeting of the new Council, Caspian had decided that he did not want them to be held in the Council chambers any longer and had asked for a table to be brought into an otherwise unused chamber of the Royal Apartments. Now Council meetings would be held firmly in private, albeit with a monthly occurring open session to address the public's problems.

Isadora paused slightly on the threshold of the room before taking her place to the right of Caspian. Twenty one seats had been placed around the table, ten down each side and one for Caspian at the top, but the twenty one were not filled.

Seven of those seats belonged to the seven missing lords who had vanished into the night shortly after the death of Caspian IX and they had never been seen again. Of the others, Glozelle and Scythley had taken Aslan's offer to return to the Old Country and a great many of the others had been killed in the Battle of the How. Only a handful of them remained and, of those killed, only a few of them had had an heir ready to take their place - as Lord Sopespian had had in Lorrin.

She and Lorrin had been the last to arrive.

At Caspian's direction, Dr Cornelius stood and cleared his throat.

"My Lords, and of course, my Lady, there are a number of spare seats around you that need filling," he said.

There was a small pause as the small group looked around them at all the empty seats.

Cornelius gave a tiny sheepish cough and returned to the papers before him.

"Shall we begin with the easiest? King Caspian, sire, your ascension to the throne also includes you coming into your right to the Lordship of Beaversdam," he said. "My Lords Oroitz, Holguín, and Casales, you all survived the Battle of Beruna and you have sworn fealty to King Caspian and his reign so you may continue your Lordships as you have done previously."

Isadora looked at the three other Lords sitting together on the opposite side of the table. Oroitz and Holguín were both in their late twenties. They had been low-ranking players in the great game of courtly politics, much like Isadora's cousin Gregoire had been. Except Gregoire had tried to jump the rungs and he was now dead.

Lord Casales, on the other hand, was about the same age as her grandfather. He had always been quiet, but not in a conniving way like Sopespian had been. More like just in the way that he did not want to get involved in the crazy politics of the court.

"Lady Orellana, your grandfather left you the Lordship of Meadowholt," continued Cornelius and it took Isadora a moment to realise that the old tutor was referring to her. She was not used to being addressed by her surname. Lady Orellana had always been her mother's formal address whereas she had nearly always been just Lady Isadora.

"And then we have the matter of the missing Lords," the tutor said, turning over a piece of paper. "The villages of Stronghurst, Belbank, Solime, Langthwaite, Hythe, Blackwall, and Larton belong to the Seven Missing Lords. Their lands were seized by the Crown after their disappearance and to this day have not been reallocated. Some of the Lords had been granted temporary powers over the people there to aid them if they needed guidance and I recommend we continue with this arrangement as close as we are able."

That had been amongst the notes Scythley had left Isadora. Langthwaite was the next village along from Meadowholt and was the ancestral home of the Bern family. Lord Bern (or Uncle Darius as Isadora had once called him) had also been the ward of the Scythleys as a boy so it only made sense that after his disappearance the lands be turned over to Lord Scythley. The people already knew him and the farming of the village was not that different to what was done by the farmers in Meadowholt; many of them even worked the same fields.

"Of the Lords killed during the Battle of Beruna, only Lord Sopespian and Lord Paredes left living heirs. Lorrin, you are old enough to inherit your late father's lands but Parede's son is only ten. I recommend we hold his lands in trust for him until he reaches the age of twenty one," Cornelius went on. "And finally, Lord Glozelle chose to go to the Old Country and left no heir behind. In addition to his vacancy, there are another six holds which require new lords."

"Thank you, Dr Cornelius," Caspian said as the tutor took his seat again. "No doubt you all have people you wish to suggest for these roles but I would rather grant new lordships to those who helped me claim my throne. I would ask you to leave the appointments of new lords to me."

"As you wish, sire," Cornelius said. The others around the table murmured their agreement and the meeting moved onwards.

* * *

Isadora sighed and stretched as she walked down the corridor towards her rooms. That had dragged on longer than she expected; it seemed Cornelius had been determined to bring even what she considered the most humdrum of issues to their attention. What she had expected to only take a few hours had dragged on so long that it was now getting dark outside. They had even eaten dinner together and were now free to spend what was left of their evening as they pleased. Isadora just wanted to go to bed. With another weary sigh, she opened the door to her family's sitting room.

"Um, excuse me?" a meek little voice said as she made her way across the room.

She jumped and spun around. A pretty blonde-haired girl not much older than herself was sitting in her father's armchair. She blushed and stood quickly when Isadora glared at her.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?" Isadora demanded. She quickly cast around for something to defend herself with in case the girl tried to attack her.

"Please, my lady, my name is Cloe," the girl stammered. "I am one of the girls who Hywel found to be your handmaiden."

She relaxed. "I already said to him that I did not need a handmaiden," she said firmly, "and I thought they were all Narnian? You look human."

"I'm a half-dryad," Cloe replied, tucking her golden hair behind one ear. "Please, my lady, I really need this job! I have nowhere else to go; my mother died last year and I have never known my father and I know I shouldn't be up here because you said you didn't need a serving girl but I really am desperate and-"

Isadora held up a hand. The girl shut up, although she did make some strange hiccupping noises and she looked like she was on the brink of tears.

"Fine, fine," Isadora said wearily. "I guess you can have the job."

Delight spread over Cloe's face.

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, my lady!" she said. "Would you like me to start now? I can help you get ready for bed!"

"No, no, you can start tomorrow. I suppose I should go tell Hywel that you have the position," Isadora said.

"Don't worry, I'll go tell him myself," the girl replied happily. "Thank you so much for this, I won't let you down!"

Isadora tried to force a smile onto her face as the girl happily skipped out of the room.

In the apparent safety of her room, she shrugged out of her dress and pulled on her nightdress and the old comfort of her red dressing gown. As she loosed her hair from its bun and began to comb it through, her eyes strayed around her room.

This room did not feel comfortable any more. It had once been a lovely little haven of familiarity. As much as her family had annoyed her at times, she had never anticipated having all of them leave so suddenly. This set of rooms were now so empty and the silence was suffocating.

It was too much for her. She stood and left her room, firmly shutting the door behind her.

"My lady?" a voice said as she padded through the living room. Her new maid appeared from behind a chair. She had been on the floor beside one of the bookcases

"Oh, Cloe," Isadora said. "I didn't see you there. What are you still doing here, I thought I dismissed you?"

"I was just doing a little tidying before I left," Cloe said, a light blush spreading across her cheeks. "I know you said I could start tomorrow but I just wanted to make a good impression."

Isadora nodded. "All right, but you really must be leaving now," she warned her. "I need to go have a word with the King."

Cloe's eyes widened. "Can I come?" she asked. "I so want to meet the King!"

 _By the Eagle, give me strength,_ Isadora thought. The dryad girl was very endearing but it was all a little full-on at this moment in time. She gave Cloe a pained smile.

"No. I'm sure you will meet the King very soon but, for now, I want to speak with him privately as my cousin and not as my sovereign," she said. "I will see you tomorrow."

Cloe looked sad for a moment but then she smiled.

"I will see you tomorrow then, my lady!" she said brightly.

Isadora took a moment to compose herself as the girl skipped out of the door and then she made her way back to the Royal Apartments. She barely acknowledged the guards outside the door; they were both old and familiar faces and they did not try to stop her as she slipped into Caspian's chambers.

He was in his private sitting room. He'd removed his shoes and jerkin and draped himself over the sofa closest to the fire with a book in his lap.

"Hey," he said, looking up as she entered. "I thought you'd gone to bed?"

She paused and clasped her hands together for a moment.

"Dor? Is everything all right?" he asked, closing the book and sitting forward.

She shook her head.

"I… I can't go back to those rooms," she mumbled.

Caspian looked at her pityingly and lifted his feet down from the couch so she could sit next to him. She did so and leant against his shoulder, desperately searching for some comfort. He held her close, felt her shoulders begin to shake, and heard her begin to cry.

It had been a very long four months.

* * *

 **Thank you to Wildhorses1492 and TortoisetheStoryteller for your reviews on the prologue! I hope you are intrigued as to know where this is all going! :D**

 **I think I can reveal that _Flames_ is going to run through until the return of the Dawn Treader so we have quite a few years to get through and I'm really excited to show you some more of the world-building I've been doing!  
But first, a little bureaucracy. I think fanfiction has a tendency to show monarchy as nothing more than wars and balls and skips a little over the tedium of running a country. Dor's life up until this point has been the battles and the parties and now she has some other responsibilities to get her head around. But don't worry, I am not going to bore you with ten chapters on the day-to-day runnings of Narnia. :D**

 **I hope you like the introductions of Hywel and Cloe. Time to bring the Telmarines and the Narnians together! I'll see you in the next chapter.**


	3. A New Start

Caspian walked through the Armoury and unlocked the Weapons Chamber with his keys. As he placed the Dirk back in its case, he let the keys slip through his fingers and felt each familiar groove in the metal.

Lord Scythley had always remonstrated him for taking the Dirk out and about with him but he had liked to have it with him. It gave him a little sense of security to have it on him since he knew then that it would never fall into his uncle's possession.

As he shut the display case, his mind turned to Isadora. There were many things he had never told her about her father and he probably would never tell her. She had an idea of Miraz in her head and, however much it differed from how the man truly had been, Caspian did not want to spoil that for her.

He turned away from the Dirk's display case and smiled as he saw Aslan. The Great Lion had appeared in the room as silently as a whisper and was now lying down across the centre of the room.

"This room is haunted by ghosts," He noted. "The Weapons cry out for their missing brothers."

"That may be so but some are long gone," Caspian said, walking the few steps between himself and the Lion. "The Seven Swords have no doubt vanished beneath the ocean's waves."

"There are more cases empty than a mere seven," Aslan pointed out, His amber eyes shifting to the three that had always been empty.

Caspian paused in front of them. Now, if only Isadora was here since she would have been able to rattle them off at breakneck speed.

"Yes," he said slowly. "The Pikes of the Scholars and Merchants, and the Axe of the Desert Dunes… but they have always been lost, as far as I am aware. I am pretty certain I remember Dr Cornelius telling us in lessons that they were lost even before we left Telmar."

"They exist still, my son, and they should be found and brought here to sleep with their brothers," Aslan said to him.

Caspian paused. "Why, Lord?" he asked. "Surely these are symbols of the old Telmarine world and not the new one we seek to create?"

"Yes they are, but they offer the perfect opportunity to bring the Narnians into the Telmarine world as much as the Telmarines are being brought into the Narnian," He explained. "You will not be able to bring them together unless they understand each other."

The new King considered this. "You are right, of course. As soon as peace is established in Narnia, I will find the other Weapons and I will find the Seven Missing Lords," he promised.

* * *

Caspian opened his eyes. He was still in his sitting room, curled up on the sofa beside a sleeping Isadora. They must have both fallen asleep in here after she came in last night.

His muscles ached from the night spent in the uncomfortable position so he carefully stood and stretched. As he wandered across to a jug of water to pour himself a cup, his mind turned to the dream he had just had.

That conversation had indeed taken place; the morning after his coronation and before the Kings and Queens of Old had departed. Except that particular conversation had been more focused on his coming reign. The Missing Lords had been mentioned but not the Weapons. Aslan had merely advised that their knowledge and experience would be beneficial to them and he had made a promise to seek them out.

He wondered why his dream revisitation of that memory now put emphasis on the Weapons.

Isadora stirred behind him and he turned with a smile. She looked up at him groggily and stretched her back and arms.

"Damn," she muttered. "I didn't mean to fall asleep up here."

She stood and stretched again.

"Don't feel like you have to leave. I can call for some breakfast," he said to her.

She sighed and dragged a hand across her eyes.

"I'd love to, but I have to go and meet my new maid," she said. "She's probably here already; she's very... enthusiastic."

She made a small face and trailed out of the room.

Hywel appeared with Caspian's breakfast and set it out on a small table as the King slipped into his bedchamber to change his clothes.

"Good morning, your Majesty," the faun said as he re-entered the room. "Breakfast today is scrambled egg on toast and a selection of fresh fruits."

"Thank you, Hywel, please pass on my thanks to the kitchen staff," he said as he sat down. "Any luck on finding me a valet and a page? I would rather not occupy your time with jobs that aren't yours to do in the first place."

The faun gave a little bobbing bow. "I have found a number of suitable young gentleman," he said. "I will be conducting interviews shortly. And it is a pleasure to serve, your Majesty. I take great pride in my work."

"Good to know. I appreciate it," Caspian said.

Hywel bowed again, a small smile on his face.

"Anything else, sire?"

"Yes, actually," Caspian said as he shook out his napkin. "Can you please pass on a message for me? I'd like to speak to Glenstorm, Trumpkin, and Reepicheep as soon as possible."

"Certainly, sire."

* * *

The chosen three were soon gathered in the Great Hall.

"Good morning, gents," Caspian said as he ducked through one of the side doors.

"You coulda picked a better meeting place," Trumpkin noted, staring round at the Lords' seats. Caspian winced, remembering the dwarf recounting how he had been humiliated by Miraz in front of the old Council.

"Apologies, I should have thought," he said. "We can go somewhere else if you would prefer."

Trumpkin grinned. "No, lad. If I'm here for any length of time then I need to get used to being in here. What's passed has passed."

"Indeed," Caspian said, crossing over to them, "and I am here to try to rectify some of what has passed. The three of you served me well during my bid to claim my throne and, in gratitude, I wish to offer the three of you seats upon the Council and the right to bear one of the Telmarine Weapons of Old."

They all looked at each other in surprise and then Reepicheep laughed airily.

"I think I am going to have to decline, sire," he said. "I may be chief of our little mouse clan but I have never seen myself as a lord amongst men."

"I certainly can," Trumpkin said drily. Glenstorm merely smiled.

"Is there another way I can repay you?" Caspian asked the Mouse.

"Yesterday, I did happen to hear dear Hywel saying that there was a need for a new Captain of the Guards," he replied. "I think both myself and my people would be well-suited to the task of keeping your castle safe."

"An excellent idea," Caspian agreed. "We shall make the arrangements as soon as possible."

He looked at Glenstorm, worried that he too would refuse. In both the War of Deliverance and the War with the Giants, the young kin had come to rely on the quiet, stoic advice of the centaur. All the Narnians listened to him and even the Telmarines were beginning to fall silent when he moved to speak. Although Narnia was no longer at war, Caspian was secretly terrified that the general was going to return to the centaur herds.

However, the centaur graciously bowed his head. "Thank you, sire. I am honoured to be chosen," he said.

"Excellent," Caspian said with a sigh of relief. "I'll inform Dr Cornelius immediately and you can take your oaths of lordship as soon as possible."

"Lord Trumpkin," the dwarf sniggered on his way out of the hall. " _Lord Trumpkin._ How do you do, Njáll? I am _Lord_ Trumpkin."

Caspian grinned and set off to find Dr Cornelius. He already had a mind to which of the holds he wanted to give Trumpkin and Glenstorm; Highpeak and Rosecliff respectively. From what he had learned of the Narnians in the past few months, Highpeak was the closest village to the secret city of the dwarves and Rosecliff lay near one of the centaurs' main grazing grounds.. Both seemed appropriate and both were in need of new lords.

He passed into the corridor of the lords' offices. Cornelius' lay a few floors above but this was the quickest way to reach it. He paused for a moment by the room now occupied by Isadora.

His cousin was sitting on the floor between an almanac and a map of Meadowholt and Langthwaite, making little marks on the parchment. She looked up as he stepped in and rubbed her eyes.

"Be glad that Beaversdam is a city," she said. "I cannot make heads not tails of these bloody crop rotations."

"Hmm, well I'm sure there is someone you can ask," he said.

"Yes, and he went to the Old Country with my mother," she sighed. "And speaking of Meadowholt and all things related; I want to change my surname."

He hesitated and then lent against the doorframe, folding his arms. "Why?" he asked.

She shared the same surname as he did, obviously; that of the Royal House of Orellana. Their family had held that name for generations, maybe even all the way back to when they first came to Telmar. If there was such a thing as absolute power then Orellana represented that. That one family had always held on to their throne, all throughout history.

"I don't want to change it completely," Isadora assured Caspian now. "I just want to add Scythley on to the end. So, I'd be Isadora Orellana-Scythley. I'm the Lady of the Bow now – I don't want to just completely abandon the legacy of my grandfather's family. Besides, I feel like I am going to have a little more authority in Meadowholt if I have the weight of Grandfather's name behind me in addition to the royal name."

"I don't think you are going to have any problems," he said.

"No woman has held a lordship for generations," she argued back. "Not to mention that I am named after the most powerful woman in our history. I feel like everyone is looking at me to fail."

"No-one is, Dor," he said. "If you want to change your name then I won't stop you."

She smiled up at him.

"Lunch, my lady!" a breezy voice called. Isadora's smile froze onto her face and one of her eyes twitched slightly.

A lithe figure dressed in green skipped past Caspian into the room and laid a tray down on Isadora's desk.

"Tomato soup!" the girl announced happily. "And I've moved all your clothes to your new rooms and organised them by cut and colour! You do like red, don't you?"

She turned around and stopped dead when she saw Caspian. Her mouth fell open and a light pink blush appeared across her cheeks.

"Cloe, I believe you recognise my royal cousin, His Majesty Caspian X," Isadora said from her position on the floor. "Cas, this is my new handmaiden, Cloe. She's a half-dryad."

"How do you do?" Caspian said to the girl. She blinked prettily and then fled in a trail of flowers.

"Was it something I said?" the confused king asked Isadora. She stared up at him with delight shining in her eyes.

"By the Eagle, you made her quiet," she said in a rapturous voice. "Don't get me wrong, she's lovely, but she never shuts up!"

He laughed and moved forward into the room to help her. Even crop rotations seemed like an interesting distraction from other things. Everything was slowly beginning to straighten out and the future seemed good, for now.

* * *

 **Emphasis on the "for now", mwahaha.**

 **This chapter marks the beginning of a small but significant change. _Ashes_ was predominantly centred around Isadora but now the story has a chance to fully unfold and expand. Not everything that will be going on will involve Dor so those chapters will either barely feature her, as here, or won't feature her at all. **

**Thank you to TortoisetheStoryteller, Wildhorses1492, GurlNextDoor447, and the guest! And to the guest, _Flames_ will definitely feature the Voyage of the Dawn Treader at some point, which means the return of Edmund and Lucy! :D**

 **As always, leave me a review and I will see you next chapter.**


	4. Moving Forward

Before long, the new Telmo-Narnian regime had settled down and organised itself almost completely. The castle was alive and happy once more and the days slowly turned into weeks. Before anyone could blink, the Midwinter festival was upon them once more. Isadora, with the help of Cloe and some other servants, had cleared out her family's old rooms and packed up their belongings to be sent to storage in the castle's attics and in Meadowholt. As she locked the door behind her and handed the key to Hywel, her heart lifted a little. She was finally ready to move forward properly.

Her days had become structured in almost exactly the same way as they had before Caspian's Revolution. Cloe would wake her up at around seven, she would breakfast, and then she would head out for training. Her old routine had vaguely been similar although the training then had either been something academic with Dr Cornelius or some tedious etiquette lesson with either her mother or another lady. As difficult and as punishing as it was on her body, she much preferred swinging her sword around under the watchful eye of Glenstorm (since the centaur had volunteered his services as an arms tutor). The remainder of her day would be spent in either various Council and committee meetings or in her office. There was a lot more to being a Lord than she had ever thought.

On this particular morning, however, Glenstorm had gone to visit Rosecliff – his new lordship – and his herd so she decided to get some practice in with the Bow instead. She had not touched one in months; in the Ettinsmoors she had been directing the archers more than firing with them and had used her preferred crossbow when she did need to fight.

After collecting the Bow, she stepped out into the training yard. It was a peculiar little square squeezed between the Keep and the Armoury. She had not spent much time here before except passing through with her friends in the hopes of catching the eye of the soldiers. By the Eagle, she never would have dreamed of stepping foot outside of her rooms looking like this before. She was dressed perfectly adequately for spending some time firing arrows at a target – trousers, a shirt, boots, a jerkin to stave off some of the encroaching cold – but her younger self, so self-absorbed and so hungry for male attention, would have likely made a snide comment as she trekked past with an entourage of friends.

Those friends had all long withdrawn. So, most likely, they had never been real friends anyway.

Lorrin and Trumpkin were in the yard this morning. Both also had their Weapons with them; Lorrin was just completing a flurry of slashes against an innocent dummy with the Axe of the River's Run and Trumpkin was idly watching him whilst leaning on his new Hammer of the Mountains. Both Weapons happened to be favourites of hers. The Axe of the River's Run was one of the prettiest of the Weapons. Its double blades were lined with small blue waves that twisted around and down the handle, a sapphire set at the base. The Hammer of the Mountains similarly had a little mountain range engraved along it. Once upon a time, it had belonged to Isadora's late cousin Gregoire. He had handled it with an ease and grace unimaginable whereas, when he let her touch it, she could barely drag it along the floor. She wondered how Trumpkin was faring with it.

She nodded to both of them and then crossed to the archery targets at the far side of the yard. Setting her quiver at her feet, she notched one of the golden-fletched arrows into the Bow. With a great deal more difficulty than she was expecting, she pulled back the arrow and let it fly. It arced through the air and fell short.

A snigger broke out from behind her. She turned angrily to see Trumpkin grinning at her.

With pursed lips, she turned back only to have another arrow fall short too. Lorrin could not help but chuckle too as she tried again only to have another miss.

"You keep that up and Caspian will have to take the Bow off you," Trumpkin laughed. "You seem to have lost your skill from Beruna."

She lowered the Bow and turned back to the pair of them.

"What are you talking about?" she asked stonily.

Trumpkin shifted slightly and grinned at her. "Well, at the Battle of Beruna, I'd have put you down as an expert. You were fighting as well as Queen Susan and now you look like you've never picked up a bow in your life."

The strange vision of the sand-covered city and the two children who played there suddenly came flooding back to her. Something caught in her throat and she gave a little choking cough as the scent of spices and horses enveloped her.

"The battle is a little hazy for me," she managed to stammer out.

"You were terrifying to watch," Lorrin added. "You cut down anyone in front of you brutally. I stayed out your way because you were killing anyone dressed in the Telmarine armour; I was scared you would kill me too if I got too close. And you had this face on you; an indescribable hatred but distant, like you weren't all there."

"I'm not sure if I was," she mumbled, her fingers playing with her bowstring.

"It would explain why you are struggling with the Bow now," Lorrin said. "You are thinking too hard."

"I'm just not used to the Bow," she tried to protest but he shook his head.

"That doesn't matter. Your family are archers and have been for generations. Even as a little girl you had a natural ability to aim," he explained. "How do you think I am able to do this?"

He took a few steps back and swung his Axe around in another complicated flurry. The blue enamelled blade turned into a blur as he swung it faster and faster until he spun and lopped the head off the poor dummy in one blow.

"That was just showing off," Trumpkin pointed out.

"But I can do it because this is my family's Weapon," Lorrin panted, heaving the Axe onto his shoulder. "Only a Sopespian can handle this Axe like that."

Trumpkin looked down at the Hammer he still leant against.

"This feels like every other weapon I've ever used," he said. Clearly he could fight with it then, Isadora thought. The worry that she could not handle the Bow poked her again at that realisation. What if she was not worthy to bear it? What if her grandfather had been wrong?

"Yes, because it isn't attuned to your family yet," Lorrin was saying. "Ask your grandson's grandson and he will feel differently. The Weapons are alive and they recognise the touch of their owners."

Trumpkin raised his eyebrows but he said no more.

"Try relaxing," Lorrin said to Isadora. "At the Battle, the trauma of the Kings' duel-"

"I wasn't traumatised!" Isadora said indignantly. He gave her a pained look.

"Fine then, the adrenaline of the anticipation of the battle caused you to tap into your family's knowledge of the Bow – so even though it was not _the_ Bow that you held in your hands, you were still able to use it like an expert."

"So, basically magic," she said.

"A kind of magic, I suppose," he agreed. "Just… try recreating how you felt before the Battle again. Relax into it."

She turned back to the target and notched another arrow into the Bow. For a moment, her nostrils filled again with the now familiar smell of spices and horses and she felt her stance subtly change. The arrow flew from the Bow and, although it did not hit the centre, it this time found the target.

"Not bad," Lorrin said. "Keep it up and you'll be like the First Isadora in no time!"

She turned back to either laugh or thank him but her words faltered as she suddenly realised how tired he looked. It was no secret in court that the late Lord Sopespian had left his son in some sort of trouble but the nature of that trouble Lorrin was keeping very firmly to himself. The clerk Hywel had found for him had been politely dismissed after only a few days. Night after night, Lorrin could be found in his office, bent over his desk and scribbling wildly, or running down to the Royal Archives in the bowels of the castle to find some paper or other. Dark circles had bloomed under his eyes and worry lines were beginning to etch themselves into his skin.

In truth, he was living in terror. Terror that Caspian would discover exactly what he was doing.

Today, after bidding farewell to Trumpkin and Isadora and returning the Axe to its rightful place, he collected some papers from his office and rode out of Beaversdam on the pretext of visiting Beruna. As he clattered up the gravel drive, he saw a waiting carriage and a pile of suitcases. His mother, Pála, was directing the gaggle of servants busying themselves with the luggage but she turned as she heard him approaching.

"Hello, son!" she called. "Are you joining me after all?"

"No," he said as he dismounted. "I wasn't expecting to find you here, if I'm honest."

She smiled as he pecked her on the cheek. "Well, I'm just stopping for a night to break up the journey between Redhaven and Rebeca's," she said. "Besides, I'm still trying to come to terms with why your sisters have been so chummy ever since your father died."

She looked carefully at the servants around them before switching from the Common Tongue to her native tongue of Sevenese.

"He's upstairs," she said.

Lorrin paused. The only servant of theirs who spoke Sevenese was Pála's handmaiden who had been with her mistress long before she had ever left the Seven Isles. Anything she overheard she would keep to herself but he was always slightly nervous that someone else would secretly hear something they shouldn't.

"Does anyone else know he's here?" he asked, also in Sevenese. She gave him a pained look.

"Well, yes, they saw him arrive. They aren't blind, Lor."

She laid a hand on his arm and squeezed it. "It was bad enough watching your father work with these people," she said. "Please, go to the King. He's a good man; he will listen…"

"Don't worry about me, Mother. I know what I'm doing," he assured her. She cupped his jaw and rubbed a thumb across his cheek, her blue eyes staring into his.

"Have a good Yule," she said, switching back to the Common Tongue. "Pass on my well-wishes to his Majesty, would you?"

He smiled. "Travel safe, and give my love to Rebeca and her family."

Pála watched him go, a few tendrils of fear snaking around her heart again.

She had already lost her husband and she was now terrified that she would lose her only child as well.

* * *

He was waiting for Lorrin in the small sitting area at the top of the manor's grand staircase; the mysterious Telmarine who had first appeared at Caspian's coronation ball. He was lounging across the couch, gazing out at the forests of Beruna that hugged the house, but he turned and grinned as Lorrin appeared.

"Hello there!" he said.

Lorrin sat down on the couch opposite without answering him and pulled his papers from his satchel.

"On your own today?" he asked stiffly as he unfolded them.

"Yup! All on my lonesome," his companion said.

"Is that wise?"

"Please, no-one notices us unless we want to be noticed. The amount of times I've been up to the castle and no-one has ever tried to stop me and find out who I am. I'd say you might want to address that little security problem if it would not make my little tasks so much more difficult. What have you got for me?"

Lorrin hesitated and then pushed the papers across the low table between them. His visitor sat up to take a look, his face now serious.

"I just don't think what you are planning is feasible," Lorrin told him. He pointed out some details on the parchment between them; an incredibly detailed blueprint.

"You just can't take the Citadel by force; it was built to defend and it has never been taken. The easiest way in is by sea and you will be a fool to take it that way. On the other side, the only road in is through this pass here and it is very well defended because pirates and bandits still occasionally try to come over the headland that way," he said.

The other watched carefully. "Getting in is not the problem," he said. "We can pose as merchants easily enough – we've done it before – I'm just more concerned about how we are supposed to hold the city when we have it."

"You need someone else on board," Lorrin said, hating himself more with every word he spoke. "I haven't got the power to get you where you need to be."

"Great, Father is going to be thrilled with that," his visitor muttered, a crease appearing between his brows. "Can I take these plans?"

"Sure," Lorrin sighed. "If anyone asks I'll say I sent them off to my grandfather or something. Anything else?"

"How is our dear Isadora?" he asked as he folded up the blueprints. "Father thinks we should be hampering her progress but it's such a joy to see her blossom. I sometimes wonder if I should approach her and then I remember that I am supposed to be working against her."

"She would rip you to shreds either way," Lorrin said shortly. "I've watched her do it to countless men before you. I would not quite discount her yet; she made leaps and bounds today."

As the two men's conversation moved forward, back in Beaversdam Cloe was introducing her mistress to some of the finer differences between the Narnian and Telmarine celebration of the Midwinter festival, Yule.

"So, he just breaks in?" Isadora asked her. "To your homes… while you are asleep?"

"It's hardly breaking in when he's expected," the half-dryad said. "Besides, he doesn't take anything; he only leaves presents!"

Isadora laid down her pen. "I'm still not sold on this whole Father Christmas character," she said.

"But you've seen his presents," the maid said with a laugh. "High King Peter's sword, Queen Susan's bow and horn, Queen Lucy's dagger and cordial! They were all presents from Father Christmas to the Kings and Queens of Old, right before the Great Thaw. Did the Telmarines not have Father Christmas?"

"No. The Midwinter festival was for celebrating our survival."

"That's really quite grim," Cloe noted, making a face. "Ours was always a happy occasion. Telmarines really don't like fun, do they?"

Isadora felt a little put-out by that. Yes, there was always a particularly dreary service where someone would recount all the hardships the Telmarines had faced over the years but the rest was always an exciting blur of parties, friendly faces, and far too much food. This year would be a melancholy occasion due to all the missing, familiar faces but it was also a reason to celebrate.

Celebrate the new, celebrate the promise of the new age, and when Yule finally arrived it was eagerly anticipated. Isadora awoke slightly before Cloe arrived to wake her and took a moment to gaze out of her windows at the snow drifting down.

A light rap on her door made her shake off the final dregs of sleep.

"Merry Yule, my lady," Cloe said quietly as she slipped into the room.

Isadora smiled and sat up. "Merry Yule, Cloe," she said.

"I've got your morning tea here," she said, setting the tray down on Isadora's vanity. "The King is expecting you and the other Lords for breakfast in half an hour."

"Wonderful," Isadora sighed, pushing the warm covers off her legs. "Have you set the fire in the other rooms?"

"Not yet."

"Go do that while I have my tea and then come help me dress."

The maid smiled and curtsied, leaving her alone. Isadora smiled to herself as she stared out at the snowflakes drifting past the window. With a sigh, she heaved herself out of bed and crossed over to her tea.

She paused and stared down at what lay beside the tea tray. Pushing aside the black feather, she lifted up the necklace. It was a simple pendant, only a ruby and the golden chain, but it was very beautiful. She picked up the slip of parchment that lay next to it and read the words written upon it in scarlet ink.

 _You could use a little more faith. F.C._

* * *

 **Feels strange to upload what is essentially a Christmas chapter at the beginning of summer. Oh well! :D  
**

 **Tsk, tsk, Lorrin is certainly up to something! Any thoughts? And what do you think of Isadora's strange "episodes". Got any explanations for the smells of horses and spices?**

 **Thank you to AStarElvenLight2 and TortoisetheStoryteller for your reviews last chapter.**

 **To AStarElvenLight2 - I too wish Ghaliya could have stayed but, as I have previously explained, her continued presence would have eventually posed a serious problem for the plot I have already worked out. As much as it killed me to lose one of my favourite characters, it had to be done I'm afraid. Thank you for your other kind words though! :)**

 **As always, leave me a review with all your thoughts on the occurrences thus far and I will see you next time!**


	5. Portrait of a Monarch

"You are joking," Isadora snarled. "No, no way!"

Caspian smiled at her.

"Now, now, be reasonable, Dor," he said diplomatically. "It's not like I'm asking you to dance in it again. All you have to do is stand there."

"Stand there?! _Stand there?!"_ Isadora said, her voice shooting up several octaves. "I want to see you just _stand there_ in that thing!"

She pointed angrily at the offensive object.

It was the dress of black and gold that she had worn to Nain's coronation. The horrible thing was currently being held up by Cloe and Caspian dearly wanted to see his cousin wear it today because Sir Robert Ramsay, one of Archenland's finest portrait painters, was here to create a portrait of the two of them.

Isadora had sat for two portraits before; one of Caspian and herself with their paternal grandmother, Queen Marisela, and one of herself with her younger sisters, Ghaliya and Marisela, when her youngest sister was only a baby. She did not really remember sitting for the portrait with her grandmother because she could not have been more than two or three at the time. The portrait was a particularly beautiful one though and still hung in the room the Dowager Queen had occupied until her death. She really had doted upon them; the only two of her grandchildren that she had known.

The other portrait though; Isadora had clear memories of sitting for that. Marisela had been teething and Ghaliya and Isadora were at each other's throats for most of the sessions with the artist. Their mother had also insisted on some stupid milkmaid theme so they had all looked utterly ridiculous. The painting had been sent off to Meadowholt because only Prunaprismia liked it. It was a pretty picture of the three girls but there was an underlying irritation in all three of their painted faces that the artist had not quite managed to eliminate and Miraz had been very indifferent towards it.

"I am not wearing that damn thing," Isadora said now.

"It's your best dress," Caspian replied evenly. "Surely you want to look as good as possible. You are technically my heir after all; don't you want history to remember you favourably?"

"In a dress that just screams _I am a Telmarine_ at a place in history where we are trying to bring two cultures together," she said, folding her arms.

Cloe coughed meekly and they both looked around at her.

"If I might," she said, "why not wear one of the Narnian colours? Red, green, and gold are the national colours of our country and you look particularly good in red, my lady."

"What a splendid idea, thank you, Cloe," Isadora said.

She looked at Caspian with raised eyebrows. "There you are, sire," she said mockingly. "I can wear red and you can wear green. You have always looked good in dark green."

He glared at her but he did not reply. He knew the dryad maid had had an excellent idea.

However, when Isadora rejoined him he almost did not recognise her for a moment. The scarlet dress was a new one but unlike any of her others. Instead of the current fashionable Telmarine cut, which was also heavily influenced by whatever the Archenlander style was, she was wearing a dress that could only be described as Narnian. It flowed out from beneath her bust and looked so much more effortless and comfortable than her usual dresses. In fact, it reminded him of the dresses Susan and Lucy had worn during the Revolution. Even her face seemed to have a softer quality.

She smiled and slipped an arm through one of his.

"Told you so," she said, fixing his collar with her free hand. "Green is definitely your colour."

Sir Robert Ramsay waited for them in Caspian's rooms where there was the best light. The painter had apparently spent an agonising half a day wandering the castle to find exactly the right conditions with an anxious Hywel bobbing along behind him attempting to make suggestions.

He was sorting through his paintbox as Caspian and Isadora entered but he looked up and smiled at the pair of them. He was a small and slight man with a delicately featured, almost effeminate face. His curly brown hair was tied back beneath a white cloth and he slid his small pair of silver glasses down his nose to better take a look at them.

"Hello, my dears," he said. "Welcome. I hope you will find my work most satisfactory."

He put down the brush he was cleaning and stood to greet them properly. In a few short steps he had crossed over to them and his brown eyes began to move rapidly across their faces.

"You both favour your fathers in the eyes. The eyes of Kings; of the Royal House Orellana. It shall make for quite the striking portrait," he said, with a small smile.

He indicated a chair behind him that had been set up in front of one of the many tapestries adorning the walls.

"Lady Isadora, if you would take a seat here, and your Majesty, if you would stand at her right shoulder?"

They moved to the position and he stepped forward to adjust them; placing Caspian's hand on the back of her chair and arranging the folds of her dress so they no doubt flowed in a more aesthetically pleasing manner.

"You are in the Queen's position," Caspian noted as the artist began to make the initial sketches on his canvas.

"But you don't have a queen yet," she shot back. "Besides, in my own right as Lady of the Bow I have more power than your queen will ever have. The master wanted me to sit here so let me sit."

Caspian chuckled softly at that. "A few hundred years ago, maybe you would have ended up as my queen," he whispered and sniggered as she tried to repress a shudder. Although the noble families still married each other and were therefore all related somehow, the practice of marrying first cousins to each other had vanished some time ago. A weaker family connection was now deemed appropriate between two parties who wished to marry.

Isadora couldn't help but wonder if she and Caspian would have married. If her brother had never been born, she would have had to marry a second son like her mother had before her. It probably then would have had to fall to Ghaliya to marry Caspian; an odd prospect. The two cousins had always maintained an amicable relationship but Isadora's tendency to hog Caspian's attention had meant that he did not have quite so close a relationship with her two sisters as he had had with her.

Ghaliya had only been a child though, while Caspian was a man grown. Such a preposterous idea needed no further contemplation and she strived to push it from her mind.

The sky outside was beginning to darken when Sir Robert finally laid down his brushes.

"Too much light has been lost now, sire. Shall we resume tomorrow?" he asked.

Caspian stretched out his legs. "Excellent. May we see the progress so far?" he said.

Sir Robert made a face of horror. "Oh no, sire. My paintings may only be seen when they are complete," he said, quickly whipping a tarpaulin over the canvas before they could see anything.

"Same time tomorrow then," Caspian said. The painter smiled, bowed, and then left the two royal cousins alone. Isadora edged slowly towards the painting.

"Dor," Caspian remonstrated as she lifted a corner of the tarpaulin slightly. "He said not to look."

"Well, you're no fun," she pouted, dropping it back into place. "Where is this undying tribute to our family bond going to hang anyway? Up here or down in the Long Gallery with the other portraits?"

"I've been giving it some serious thought, actually," he replied. "What do you remember about Cair Paravel?"

The name was familiar to her and she paused for a moment, scouring her memories. "That was the castle of the Kings and Queens of Old, correct?" she said eventually. "It was supposed to be on a peninsula on the coast somewhere."

He nodded. "The ruins are still there – although it is now an island not a peninsula," he said. "Trumpkin knows exactly where it is because that is where he met up with the Kings and Queens of Old during the revolution. I've been speaking with him, and Trufflehunter and some of the other Narnians, and none of them are truly comfortable at the prospect of spending their lives serving this castle. I was thinking of reconstructing Cair Paravel and I want this portrait of the two of us to be the first that hangs on its walls."

She smiled at him. "I like the sound of that," she said. "Have you got any plans for the new castle or is it all just wishful thinking at the moment?"

With that prompting, he led her into his study and they spent a good half an hour poring over the blueprints he had had drawn up for the redesign of Cair Paravel. On the way back to her own rooms, she took a wide detour so she could pass through the Long Gallery. It ran parallel to the upper levels of the Main Hall and contained all the portraits of the Kings.

Since the castle had not been completed until the reign of Caspian VI, Isadora had always wondered where the paintings of his forebears had hung before. No doubt they had had some sort of manor house or such like they had used before the castle had been finished.

She walked slowly down the line of portraits, taking in the familiar features of her forebears. Her grandfather, Caspian VIII, she had always thought to have had a nice face. She had never known him personally for he had been killed in battle a few years before her birth but she remembered how fondly her grandmother had spoken of her late husband.

After that slight pause, she continued down the line.

The portrait at the end was the eldest. It depicted Caspian I. He stood tall and proud; his shoulders back and his stance wide. His two hands rested on the hilt of a greatsword stuck into the ground before him and the Dirk could clearly be seen on his hip. One eye was covered by an eyepatch and his good one burned out of the painting with a hatred and a pride unlike any seen in his descendants.

When she was a little girl, the children used to play a game where they would have to stand in front of the portrait and stare into his terrible gaze for fifteen minutes. She had not been able to make it more than five, running for the nurse in tears, and even Caspian had only made it ten minutes.

"How do you feel knowing that man's blood is in your veins?" a voice asked. She turned and saw Trumpkin and Trufflehunter coming down the gallery. Papers were bundled in both their arms; Trufflehunter had been employed in the Archives and had proved a great help in integrating the Narnians into the Telmarine world. Clearly he had been aiding Trumpkin this evening and it had been the Dwarf who had posed the question just now.

"Once, I was proud to call him my ancestor," she admitted. "He has always been a symbol of Telmarine might. Caspian the Conqueror... But, I suppose you do not think of him so kindly."

"No. He is the man who wrought destruction upon Narnia and forced us into hiding," Trufflehunter said. "Caspian the Blind, we call him."

"In polite company," Trumpkin snorted. "Caspian the Killer, I've heard him called more often. Caspian the Cu-"

"Trumpkin!" the badger snapped.

"I was going to say Cut-throat," the dwarf replied innocently.

She smiled and turned back to his portrait. "I wonder what kind of man he was," she said, staring into his hate-filled gaze.

"The true man has been lost to history," Trufflehunter said, "and only a shadow of who he once was remains."

* * *

 **Thank you to Wildhorse1492 for your review last chapter!**

 **Firstly, Sir Robert Ramsay is a one-off character but he is a representative of three men rather close to my heart. Although I have a bad relationship with most poetry, I have a particular love of 18th c. Scots poetry - especially that of Robert Fergusson, Allan Ramsay and, Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns. Since the real Allan Ramsay's son was a portrait painter, I couldn't resist putting a little ode to these great literary figures in the form of my own Archenlander artist.**

 **Secondly, I've been doing more planning. _Forging a Nation_ currently stands at the three main volumes of Caspian and Isadora's story, a prequel telling the story of their parents, and four one-shots. The first, _Smoke_ , is already on my profile. The third and the fourth won't come until I am publishing Part Three of _FaN._ The second, however, will be out sometime this week. **

**For a hint as to the content, Caspian I may have been lost to history but that doesn't mean you can't see the man he was, my dear readers. :D**


	6. News of the Dwarves

Another day, another Council meeting, and Isadora was once again unfortunately bored. She had settled into her new responsibilities fairly well but the meetings she were still finding tiresome. However, the next point on the agenda was sure to pique her interest; sure to grab the attention of all around the table.

"We have received word from the Low King of the Dwarves," Cornelius said, turning over one of the sheaves of parchment in front of him. "He writes to congratulate King Caspian on both his coronation and his success in the North and wishes to arrange a date suitable for a party of dwarves to visit Beaversdam to pay homage to the royal court."

"Oh, by the Mane!" Trumpkin exclaimed loudly. "Don't agree to it!"

They all stared at him. He turned an interesting red colour and reached for his tankard.

"Why did you call him a king?" Isadora asked after the pause. "I thought Caspian, as King of Narnia, is also king of the dwarves."

"He is," Trumpkin said. " _The Low King_ is the closest translation of the Dwarfish word into the Common Tongue that we can manage. He's more like a governor or a judge anyway; it's an elected position, not hereditary."

"If I might?" Cornelius said and then made a noise that sounded like he was gargling a mouthful of gravel. Trumpkin toasted him.

"Not bad," he said. "The good doctor could use a little more _khzumkf_ in his _ghark_ but that's approximately the word in Dwarfish. Would you rather use that or _Low King_?"

"Low King," the humans around the table muttered.

"Make all the arrangements, would you, Cornelius?" Caspian said.

"Not a wise idea, your Majesty," the old tutor said. "On account of my human father. Pure-blooded dwarves look on half-breeds like myself with a great deal of prejudice and they don't look too kindly to most humans either."

"Aye, that's true," Trumpkin agreed. "The Elder families won't look kindly on a _teuchach_ trying to speak on behalf of the King."

Cornelius had flinched slightly as the dwarf had said _teuchach_ , Isadora had noticed. Clearly it was not a nice word. She had never considered the Narnians having their own languages. The Telmarines had once spoken another language, the Old Tongue, but that was long dead and now only existed in their oldest books and records. Most countries spoke in the Common Tongue; Narnia, Archenland, most of the islands, and the near-side of Calormen. The Seven Isles spoke an odd language called Sevenese and she knew there was some sort of Calormene language spoken deep in the deserts beyond Tashbaan. Obviously, some of the different races within Narnia also had their own tongues to speak in.

Trumpkin was examining Caspian closely. "How quickly can you grow a beard?"

"Will that help?" Caspian asked.

Trumpkin nodded.

Caspian sighed and rubbed a hand across his currently shaven chin. Isadora smirked and tried to hide it behind her hand. The idea of a bearded Caspian was hilarious to her.

"Trumpkin, would you please make all the necessary arrangements then?" Caspian said.

The Red Dwarf pulled a face but nodded. As the Council moved on to the next item on the agenda, he downed the contents of his tankard and went to fill it again.

He went through another three before the meeting was out. Caspian watched him carefully as they moved through all the matters. He looked ever more surly than usual and his face was slowly changing colour with every minute that passed. As the meeting came to an end, he look decidedly green.

"Trumpkin, a word," Caspian said as everyone prepared to leave. Isadora paused on her way out but he shook his head and she took the cue to leave.

When everyone had left, the King attempted to fix a regal eye upon his dwarfish subject.

"Is there some reason why you can't arrange this meeting with the court and your dwarfish brothers?" he said slowly.

Trumpkin sighed and sat back in his seat. Grumbling to himself immensely, he placed each of his feet quite deliberately on the Council table and drained his goblet again.

"Does the name of Iceguard mean anything to you, sire?" he asked.

"No, should it?"

"Just checking. It is the Common Tongue translation of one of the great Dwarfish Families; mine is Stonefist," Trumpkin explained. "The Low King is an Iceguard. His personal name is Njálabrik."

Caspian paled. "Like Nikabrik?" he said, remembering the sly Black Dwarf who had betrayed them during the revolution.

"He was Njáll's cousin and heir to the Iceguard family. I imagine by now that word of Nikabrik's death has made its way back to the Deep Chasm," Trumpkin said. "And since we were both instrumental in his death I wonder how chatty Njáll is feeling."

"You seem like you are on good terms with him though," Caspian said. "Surely if you explain that you were halting the return of an ancient evil-"

"The Iceguards are Black Dwarves and while they submit to Aslan, they have always held sympathies with the Dark Narnians who were driven out after the Great Thaw," the dwarf told him. "I don't know how Njáll will respond to any communications from me."

"What are you not telling me?" Caspian sighed. Trumpkin looked uncomfortable.

"I was betrothed to Njáll's sister. I broke off the engagement shortly before I met you," he admitted.

Caspian sighed again and rubbed his eyes. "Is it wise that you act as our ambassador in this situation then?" he asked.

"I'll send a bird off and we'll wait to get a reply," Trumpkin said gruffly. "I need to face them sometime anyway."

"Why did you break off the betrothal?" Caspian asked after a moment's silence. "Did you not like her?"

"No, sire," Trumpkin chuckled. His face uncharacteristically softened. "I never deserved Tórví."

"Is she beautiful?"

"Aye, as beautiful as the sunlight through a vein of quartz," Trumpkin said, his eyes distant. "Sorry, dwarfish metaphors must seem odd to humans."

"Well, I have every faith in you to fix things," Caspian said. "I can trust you, can't I?"

"Of course," Trumpkin promised. As he said good night to Caspian and began the walk back to his rooms, his mind turned to the night they had met. It had only been a short time since he had ran from the Deep Chasm, the ancestral home of the Dwarves, and from all the whispers he had heard…

* * *

"Thanks for letting me stay," he said gruffly.

"Aye, I still don't know why I'm letting you," Trufflehunter sniffed. "Poor Lady Tórví. She's too sweet a girl to be treated so."

The badger slid a chopping board and a knife across his table. "There's potatoes in that sack next to you," he said. "Peel some and I'll make soup this evening."

Trumpkin dug in the sack beside him and drew out a few potatoes. However, he pushed aside Trufflehunter's knife in favour of his own little dagger. As he began to peel the potatoes, he watched Trufflehunter slowly pull a pot across his home and position it over the fire.

"Yes… potato soup," the badger muttered to himself. "We'll use Mam's recipe… and those leeks Hywel brought the other week need using."

He sat down with an armful of leeks and began to chop them.

"So," he said eventually. "Why did you leave so abruptly? I doubt you said anything to Tórví before you left."

Trumpkin paused. "No, I didn't," he said. "And out of everything in this mess, it is she that I am most sad to lose. I never deserved her."

"So why leave? I never put you down for one with cold feet," his friend said, now inspecting a bunch of carrots.

"It wasn't due to cold feet," Trumpkin replied and hesitated again. Should he tell Trufflehunter? He did not even have any definitive proof, only rumour. The whole thing was just one big Dwarfish mess anyway. Dragging Talking Beasts and the other Narnian races into the mix was surely only going to complicate the matter. However, he did desperately want some advice.

"There is a rumour floating around the Deep Chasm," he said slowly, "that some of the Black Dwarfs have been trying to contact a hag."

Trufflehunter snorted. "So what? The Black Dwarfs have had dealing with the Dark Narnians for centuries! This is nothing new," he said.

"Yes," Trumpkin agreed, "except this hag claims she has the remnants of Jadis' wand. She also claims she knows a way to bring the Witch back."

Trufflehunter gasped and stared at Trumpkin in horror. "No! Surely not?"

The dwarf nodded solemnly. "Now, I doubt Tórví would get herself mixed up in any business like that but her family… well, their ancestor Ginnarbrik was the personal servant of the Witch herself after all."

"You don't think…" Trufflehunter stammered. "No, you surely don't think Nikabrik is somehow mixed up in this? Or worse, Njálabrik? I thought he'd just been elected Low King!"

"If Njáll was, I imagine he's pulled out. He worked far too hard to be elected to throw it all away on a myth," Trumpkin noted, slumping back on his chair. "But Nikabrik? He's not the dwarf you once knew, Truffs. His father's death hit him hard and I think he's hurt that our people chose his younger cousin over him as the Low King."

"But… but this is all a rumour, yes?" the badger asked, blinking rapidly.

"I've got no proof," Trumpkin confirmed. "That's why I left; to find some. There's apparently a half-breed that's managed to wiggle his way into the Telmarine court as a tutor or something. I've made contact with him and he's done some research on whether there is such a ritual to bring Jadis back to life. I'm on my way to meet him now."

Trufflehunter leapt to his feet.

"Don't be a fool!" he snapped, his eyes blazing. "You are going to go try to go there? To _that_ castle? What if the Telmarines catch you? No, there is no _if_ about it; they _will_ catch you! You are no use to the Narnians dead, Trumpkin!"

"I dare not go to Glenstorm or Asterius without proof! Aslan save us, do I even go to Asterius?" Trumpkin spat back. "If this whole plot is not merely a fabrication then for all we know the Minotaurs could be caught up in it too! Then we'll be back where we were in the Hundred Year Winter, them on one side with the Witch and us on the other with Aslan; only this time there will be Telmarines caught in the middle too!"

Trufflehunter's eyes suddenly widened and he fell back down on his stool with a thump.

"That's exactly it," he murmured. "Don't you see? Something wants to drive us apart. Something wants to set the Narnians fighting amongst themselves."

Trumpkin paused and laid his knife and the half-peeled potato down on the table.

"You think?" he asked. "Who do you think it could be? The Witch?"

"No. Her end-goal would be a resurrection and she has followers more loyal than the Black Dwarfs she could turn to for that," Trufflehunter said, raising a paw up to stroke his snout. He often adopted that gesture whilst thinking and Trumpkin stayed silent for a moment; allowing his friend to quickly tread through his paths of thought.

"Someone wants us scattered and alone," the badger said eventually. "Someone desperately wants to set us wrangling amongst ourselves in such a way that has never been seen since before the Golden Age. But why? And, more importantly, whom?"

They both jumped as someone banged on Trufflehunter's front door.

"Now, who could that possibly be at this time of night?" the badger muttered.

As he waddled towards the door, Trumpkin reached down under the table and slowly drew his sword from its sheath.

He relaxed slightly as he heard a familiar voice. Well, maybe not relaxed exactly.

"Evening, Trufflehunter. Is Trumpkin here?"

"Aye, he is. You better come in."

Trufflehunter shuffled back down the stairs followed by a certain Black Dwarf.

"Trumpkin," he said as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

"Nikabrik," Trumpkin replied. The Black Dwarf stuck his thumbs into his waistcoat and glanced around Trufflehunter's home as if expecting an assailant to come leaping out from some shadow.

"Tórví is distraught," he said, taking the seat Trufflehunter indicated. "She has not left her rooms all day."

Trumpkin looked down at his lap. "You will give her my sincerest apologies, won't you?" he said miserably.

"No, I won't," Nikabrik replied, "because you are coming back with me."

Trumpkin was forever a little confused about what exactly transpired next. Words were exchanged, some more heated than others, and both dwarfs had leapt to their feet in anger, when suddenly, Trumpkin found himself floundering under the sack of potatoes and Nikabrik was sprawled on the floor with his head underneath Trufflehunter.

"Are you both going to behave now?" he growled at the pair of them. They nodded meekly (or, at least, Trumpkin nodded and Nikabrik made a small mewl of agreement from beneath Trufflehunter's rump). "No respect," the badger muttered as he climbed off the Black Dwarf. "Come into my home, _my_ home, and behave like it is some dark tavern in the depths of the Deep Chasm!"

The dwarves took an uneasy seat at the table once more.

"You two were going to be kin!" the badger snapped at them, leaning his paws on the table. "Act like it!"

Nikabrik turned back to Trumpkin with veiled irritation in his eyes but a clear desire to speak openly.

"Are you going to come back?" he asked.

"There are things that require my attention first," Trumpkin said. _Including whether or not you are involved with a plot to resurrect one of the greatest enemies we have ever known,_ he thought.

"Why now? Why not wait until after the wedding?"

"They require my attention urgently. Tórví will understand."

"She'll chop your head off herself the second you step foot back in the Chasm. You have made a mockery of her and our family. The Iceguards aren't accustomed to being embarrassed – especially by a pathetic little-"

Nikabrik found himself interrupted and all three froze as there came a great crash and a thunder of hooves from outside the house.

"By the Mane, what was that?" Trufflehunter breathed.

"We'll go check," Trumpkin said. He and Nikabrik crept towards the door and opened it. Just outside in a pile of leaves lay a young Telmarine soldier. His eyes fluttered rapidly but they locked onto the two dwarves hiding in the shadows of the doorway. Nikabrik hit Trumpkin quickly.

"He's seen us!" he hissed.

Trumpkin ran the few steps between the door and the boy, drawing his sword as he did so. Then the moonlight caught off something white and he hesitated. There, lying in the leaves between him and the Telmarine, was a horn. A horn Trumpkin had seen only in pictures; the white horn of Queen Susan the Gentle. He glanced up at the boy, noted his gaze turn to panic as those who had been pursuing him crashed towards the small hollow, and turned back to Nikabrik still skulking in the doorway of Trufflehunter's house.

"Take care of him," he called and ran towards the Telmarines on horseback.

Legend said the horn of Queen Susan could recall her and her royal siblings. If anybody could help them stand against this hidden foe, surely it would be the Kings and Queens of Old.

Enough hiding in the shadows; the Narnians were going to rise again.

* * *

 **Thank you to Wildhorses1492, AStarElvenLight2, and TortoisetheStoryteller for your reviews last chapter.**

 **The title of Low King for leader of the dwarves has been shamelessly borrowed from the Discworld series by Sir Terry Pratchett; one of my personal favourite series that I can quote from endlessly.**

 _ **If you are interested in pronunciations:  
**_ **Njáll is supposed to be pronounced the same as Niall but in my head it is more N-Yall.  
Tórví is pronounced Torvee.**

 **I am also about to go away for a few weeks during which I will not be able to upload a new chapter until I get back in July. So, hold tight, and when I return we shall introduce some dwarves! Trumpkin can't run forever! :P**


	7. The Low King

"Is all of this really necessary?" Isadora hissed from her position to Caspian's right.

"We want to be as accommodating as possible," he muttered back.

In the few months it had taken to organise the meeting between the court and the dwarves, Caspian had grown a short beard. It took Isadora a great deal of strength to not burst out laughing anytime he addressed her because she thought he looked utterly ridiculous. However, according to Trumpkin, it was better than approaching these dwarves bare-faced.

To be bare-faced was, in dwarfish eyes, a trait of humanity.

Isadora, unfortunately, could not grow a beard. Instead, her hair had been pulled back and forth and braided in a manner that looked very beautiful and Dwarfish but was so tight it was giving her a slight headache. That coupled with one of her more Narnian dresses was the best she could do.

"They are your subjects; not foreign dignitaries," she reminded her cousin now. "We should be accommodating but don't bend over backwards to impress this Low King. I haven't seen you so eager to please since the revolution."

Caspian glanced at her and they shared a knowing look. Then, the trumpets sounded and they heard the distant thump of marching feet.

The party of dwarves finally passed through the gatehouse and marched forwards towards the waiting court. They were dressed in armour unlike anything the human Telmarines had ever seen; full plate armour in a range of browns, greys, blacks, that made them all look like little boulders. Helmets obscured their faces and all that could be seen was their eyes glittering behind the visors. Two carried strange standards; the golden lion of Narnia but wreathed in red flame upon a black background.

As they halted in neat formation in front of Caspian, Isadora found herself doubting her earlier words. If they had not borne the golden lion upon their banners, very little would have identified them as Narnians. It felt very much like when they had had envoys from the Tisroc of Calormen when she was a little girl. They were also so unlike the few dwarfs she had fought alongside with over the past months. It was clear that those were the exception and it was the true Dwarfish might who stood before them now.

The dwarf heading the group stepped forward and removed his helmet; revealing a tangle of black hair and a clever little face. His slate-grey eyes examined the Telmarines and Narnians carefully, his gaze lingering on Trumpkin next to Isadora in particular. Although he was yet to speak, his bearing spoke volumes. It was clear that he was Njálabrik, the Low King.

"Greetings, and a most warm welcome to the Dwarves of the Deep Chasm," Caspian said formally. He smiled down at his subjects.

Silence echoed around the courtyard, before the Low King turned to one of the dwarves standing slightly behind him.

" _Ik Aslan, za Rhuz aa'ka fuek u chuzka,"_ he muttered and then turned to Caspian with a wide, white smile.

"Your Majesty!" he said in a rumbling voice that spoke of mountain halls. "Thank you for welcoming the Sons of Earth."

Behind him, the armoured ranks of dwarves suddenly moved as one. With a crash of armour, they placed one foot forward and bowed in perfect unison.

Caspian stepped forward and held out his hand. Njálabrik gripped his elbow and the Narnian King and Low King shook. The tension in the courtyard broke, the dwarves moved apart and laughter and chatter started as the Sons of Earth began to mingle with the Narnians again.

"What did Njálabrik say?" Isadora said to Trumpkin out of the corner of her mouth. Although the court had moved forward to begin interacting with the dwarves, the two of them had stayed put on the steps; Trumpkin for some unknown reason and Isadora for an uncharacteristic attack of shyness.

Trumpkin grinned.

"Don't say anything to Caspian, but he said, " _By Aslan, the King has hair like a woman,"_ " he sniggered. "I told him he should have grown a longer beard."

The mirth on his face quickly vanished and he scuttled off into the crowd. Isadora watched him go with slight bemusement and then turned to see Caspian approach with a dwarf in tow.

He was dressed in the same armour as the other dwarves but had removed his helmet, revealing a handsome face with a close-cropped black beard.

"This is my cousin, Lady Isadora Orellana-Scythley," Caspian said to him and then turned back to her with a smile. "Dor, may I introduce Lady Tórví Iceguard, sister to Njálabrik."

Isadora's smile waivered slightly and she turned back to Tórví.

"Hello," she said. Tórví nodded her head.

"I want you to take care of Tórví while the dwarves are here," Caspian continued. "Show her around the castle, make her feel welcome, keep her company."

With that, the King moved on again – leaving the two ladies staring each other up and down.

Isadora shifted from foot to foot. "I didn't realise female dwarves also had beards," she said.

Something hardened behind Tórví's eyes. "And I didn't realise Daughters of Eve looked like prepubescent children," she replied icily.

Isadora blinked.

"Apologies, that was slightly insensitive of me," she said.

"Yes, it was," Tórví said and walked off to join her brother instead, leaving Isadora by herself and feeling quite the idiot.

* * *

The dwarves were swiftly escorted into the castle and shown to their quarters. Njálabrik and Tórví were installed in adjoining rooms in the Western Tower which were usually given over to visiting ambassadors. As the sky darkened outside, they settled in.

Having divulged himself of his armour and redressed in a black and silver tabard, Njáll knocked on the door to his sister's chamber and let himself in.

Tórví too had changed into a forest green doublet that happened to be one of her favourites. She was seated in front of the vanity, replaiting her hair, as he entered. He picked an apple out of the fruit bowl on the sideboard and noted that she had taken the liberty of shutting the great heavy velvet drapes across the window.

"I see you don't appreciate the view," he said, taking a bite of the apple. His sister didn't move her gaze from her reflection, staring intently at her fingers moving through her hair.

"I don't like being reminded of how high up we are," she said shortly. "This is unnatural."

"Do you want me to ask us to be moved or are you merely throwing a strop?" Njáll asked, throwing himself into an armchair. Tórví didn't reply. So, the latter then, clearly.

"What do you think of this King then?" he asked.

"He's young," Tórví said. "We'll need to watch him closely but I can already tell he relies a lot on his advisors. That cousin of his is an idiot; I don't think she will be any sort of problem at all."

"Aslan's Mane, you are just a glittering pile of gold today, aren't you?" he said, making use of a common Dwarfish saying. "What's the matter? I need your eyes, Tórví. I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't need you."

Tórví's hands fell away from her hair. She turned on her stool and looked at her brother with doleful eyes.

"He couldn't even look at me," she said. "He turned and ran before I could even get close."

Njáll sighed. While the Stonefists were one of the lesser Elder Families in the Chasm, Trumpkin had been a good match for Tórví. The engagement had taken a lot of time to organise but what made it worth it was to see how enamoured Trumpkin was with his betrothed. Njáll's parents had enjoyed a marriage as icy as their surname and he was thrilled to think that his younger sister had a chance at a much happier life.

When Trumpkin had up and left in the middle of the night with no explanation, the Iceguards had been left mortified and Tórví had been distraught. Njáll had comforted his sister at the time but that had been almost a year ago at this point. He had heard the rumours that Trumpkin had found his way to the new King's side so he had known that they would have bumped into each other now. However, he hadn't factored in Tórví's reaction to seeing her former betrothed. He could not afford to coddle his sister now, he needed her sharp eyes to help him gauge the feeling at court, but he knew he could not expect her to continue as if nothing had happened.

Luckily, he was saved by a knock at the door.

"Enter!" Tórví called and the door opened to reveal the faun who seemed to be acting as some sort of butler to the King. Hywel was his name, Njáll managed to remember.

"Forgive the intrusion, Lady Iceguard," Hywel said with a small bow. "I am seeking your brother and when he was not in his own room I correctly assumed he would be through here with you… And forgive me, sir, but I am not sure how to address you?"

"Sir will more than adequate," he said. "What can I do for you?"

"The King has requested a private meeting with you now before the ones with the Council tomorrow," Hywel said. "If you would follow me, please?"

"Just give me a minute to finish freshening up," Tórví said as Njáll stood.

The faun gave a gentile cough. "Unfortunately, His Majesty wishes to speak with the Low King alone tonight," he said apologetically. "Lady Iceguard, I must ask you to remain here."

"Sure," she said flatly and looked at her brother. "You will tell me everything he says?" she asked in Dwarfish.

"Of course," Njáll said before following the faun.

Hywel led him all through the castle down stairwells and through corridors until he reached a rather inconspicuous-looking door. He opened it and waved Njáll through with a smile.

The Low King could not help but think it was a rather peculiar place to meet King Caspian but, the second he stepped through the door, he realised his error.

"I thought you said this would be a private meeting with the King," he said to Hywel behind him.

"Oh, the King has no idea this meeting is happening," the faun said, crossing to join those who had been waiting for them in the room. "I usually do not condone lying but it was very necessary in this scenario. Apologies, _sir_."

Njáll noted the curt tone in that last use of _sir._ He adjusted his stance so it was slightly more domineering and looked around the room. He recognised some – the centaur general Glenstorm, Bulgy Bear, the insufferable mouse Reepicheep – but there were far more faces he did not know. He looked over his shoulder and saw a minotaur had stood in front of the door, blocking the only exit. Looking forward again, he cursed himself for leaving his dagger and axe in his room with his armour. Here he was, alone and defenceless in a room full of other Narnians and they did not look pleased to see him.

"In fact," Glenstorm said, "His Majesty is never to be made aware of this meeting at all. This is to discuss a Narnian matter and His Majesty is not yet truly a Narnian."

"What's this about?" Njáll snarled. "I came here as a representative of my people and I refuse to be summoned here with no explanation. Where is Asterius? Where is my cousin Nikabrik? Where is that _teuchach_ Trumpkin?"

"Peace, there will be no need for that language here," a plump badger said. "Clearly the Chasm is now so far removed from Narnian society that they have not heard the news. Asterius and Nikabrik are both dead."

Njáll tried not to let that show on his face. Nikabrik had been head of the Iceguard family and so the responsibility had fallen to him to retrieve Trumpkin and bring him before Njáll to be judged by the Low King for breaking his prenuptial contract. Since his cousin was hot-headed even for a Dwarf, he had charged off himself to capture his errant friend instead of arranging a bounty hunter like anyone else would have done. No word had come from him since he had left but he was such a seasoned warrior that the Iceguards had not feared for his safety.

"Why am I here?" he spat out.

"Twice His Majesty called for the Dwarfs of the Deep Chasm to join his side," Reepicheep said. "Twice they have ignored that call. You are the elected leader of the Dwarfs so you will answer to us. Why did you not rally to war?"

Njáll scoffed. "You mean the Revolution? That was over in what, a week? If we had marshalled and marched all the way to Beruna it would have been over by the time we got there! As for that business in the Ettinsmoors… the Ettins have always caused trouble! There was no need to go and beat them into submission; you should have sent word to the Harfangers and let them sort it out!"

"We needed the Dwarfish army. You alone could have bolstered our ranks by a third," Glenstorm said in his quiet voice.

"You won, didn't you?" he replied icily. "Besides, I know of at least one Dwarf who stood with you so stop acting like we left you completely alone."

"Aye, there were some dwarves," the badger said. "Renegades and other outcasts driven out by the Elder Families! I suppose they are to blame for why you have not joined us sooner?"

Njáll glared at the Talking Beast. "What is your name, Badger?" he asked.

"Trufflehunter," the badger answered. "I was a friend of Nikabrik's and he always spoke very highly of you. It is a shame that you aren't living up to that impression he gave me."

Njáll too recognised the name. He should have known that the badger was Trufflehunter. Before his father's death, Nikabrik had forever gone adventuring outside the Chasm as far reaching as the ruins of Cair Paravel on the coast. Njáll and Tórví had been nowhere near as brave as their cousin, preferring instead the quiet calm of the Dwarfish city, but had always listened eagerly to Nikabrik's stories and the other Narnians he had befriended.

"I suppose, Trufflehunter, that you have never met the Elder Families," Njáll said now. "I may be the Low King but they are the ones who truly control the Deep Chasm. If I was to call the dwarves to arms without their permission they would lock away their family's weapons and armour and prevent them from leaving!"

"It is high time that the Elder Families were reminded that they are Narnians," Trufflehunter said. "They could keep your people safe and separate when we were in hiding from the Telmarines but the world has changed. We expect the Deep Chasm to open its doors once more and the Elder Families will have to submit to Caspian! Or will they be so arrogant as to reject Aslan's chosen sovereign?"

The Low King was silent. "We are Narnians," he agreed. "Now, would I be permitted to leave? I am weary from a long day's travel."

The others exchanged looks and then Glenstorm nodded. The minotaur in front of the door stepped aside and Njáll moved to leave. On the threshold, he turned back.

"If anyone wishes to discuss this matter further, you know where to find me," he said with chilling politeness.

The door crashed behind him.

"It seems he is more of a politician than his predecessor," Reepicheep noted to his friends. "It will be intriguing to see how he moves over the next few days."

"Remember that he may not be our friend," Trufflehunter cautioned. "He is little more than the Elder Families' puppet and if they have already decided to stand against Caspian then we may as well say goodbye to the dwarves – forever."

* * *

 **I am back!**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and an introduction to my Dwarves! :) What do you think of Njáll and Tórví so far? Friends or foes? :D**

 **Thank you to TortoisetheStoryteller, Wildhorses1492, and narnia and beareject fan 1 for your kind words last chapter! I will see you next time, for Njáll has chosen now to visit the court for a very urgent matter indeed...**


	8. A Dwarf Does Not Fear The Darkness

Upon returning to his rooms in the Western Tower, Njáll immediately called for one of his own soldiers to come and stand guard outside. Then he and Tórví held a short conference to decide their next moves.

Even after her brother had retired, Tórví did not sleep. She stayed awake and wondering in her strange, unfamiliar room that was too high and too far away from all that was familiar. She missed the closeness of the Chasm and the familiar weight of the Black Mountains above her head; even with the current dangers that compromised her once peaceful home.

As morning rolled around, she dressed again and steeled herself for enforced contact with Lady Isadora Orellana-Scythley. She really did not know what to make of the woman. Isadora seemed vapid and uninteresting but she was one the most powerful people in Caspian's court so she could not merely be ignored.

She and Tórví could not have possibly been any more different. As she said goodbye to Njáll, since he had a private meeting with the King, Tórví steeled herself to prepare to spend her day with this irritating woman.

Isadora had an office in one of the lower floors alongside some of the other Lords. There she was waiting for Tórví, apparently. At least, that is what Tórví could gather from the incredibly perky half-Dryad who was leading the Dwarf through the castle. During the journey she also learned that the girl was Lady Isadora's personal handmaiden and she was an orphan and she was an ash dryad.

Tórví just let her babble.

"…and here are the offices!" the handmaiden trilled as they turned into a corridor with a black and white chequered floor.

Isadora had been busy with some sort of document as the dryad girl showed Tórví into the right room. It was a handsome and comfy little room of dark wood. Bookcases stuffed with leather-bound books hugged the walls and Isadora's desk sat in the middle of the room.

She looked up as Tórví entered and gave her a smile; the same glassy smile as the day before.

"Will that be all, milady?" the dryad girl asked.

"Yes, Cloe, you are excused for now. I'll call for you later," she said and her handmaiden curtsied and left them alone.

"Please, sit. This unfortunately needs my full attention first but I have nearly reached the end," Isadora said. She indicated an armchair near her desk and then went back to the parchment before her.

Tórví took the seat offered to her and took the opportunity to more closely examine Isadora as she finished her work. She was shocked to see how young the woman was and more shocked to see the purple shadows blossoming under her eyes. Everybody in this castle just seemed exhausted and overworked.

Isadora groaned and then shoved her papers aside. She sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes then scrutinised Tórví as closely as the Dwarf had just done to her.

"So, what are we to do?" she said. "You have made it quite clear that you do not like me but my royal cousin has decreed that we must endure each other's company while he and your brother discuss their business."

Tórví raised an eyebrow and smiled to herself.

"You wish to sit in the meetings as well?" she asked.

"Not to speak ill of my King but Caspian has always had a tendency to get overexcited and make promises he can't keep," Isadora replied grimly. "I can usually stop him or hold him back in some way but how can I do that if he won't let me be there to hear what he is saying?"

Something about the irritation flickering behind the woman's dark eyes made Tórví smile. Isadora glared at her.

"I don't know why you have taken such offence to me," she said stiffly. Tórví tipped her head to one side to indicate she was listening.

Isadora sighed and slapped her hands down onto the arms of her chair. Her knuckles went white for a moment as she gripped them and then she relaxed and dragged a hand across her face.

"I'm trying, alright?" she said. "I've brought all of this upon myself. I had one friend growing up; a friend I loved so deeply that I neglected all other relationships including my relationships to my own siblings in favour of him. When I could not have his attention I surrounded myself by the most toxic collection of girls I could muster and we laughed and stabbed each other in the back in this hazy daze of youth. And then, my mother gave birth to my brother and my friend ran away and became a King and I lost everything. My father is dead; my grandfather, mother and siblings are where I can never see them again; and that collection of so-called girlfriends have not spoken to me in months. I can tell the others are looking for me to have some sort of breakdown because I am a woman and I am young and I… I just thought you would understand…"

She trailed off.

Tórví pursed her lips. "I was actually just smiling because your frustrations with the King remind me of my frustrations with Njálabrik," she said.

An awkward silence filled the office and then both women began to laugh.

"Oh dear, I really need to stop leaping to conclusions," Isadora said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"You need to start behaving like a Dwarf," Tórví told her. "We do not care which gender you are; if you have a working pair of hands and a brain in your head you can work just as well as anyone else."

"I like the sound of that," the Telmarine girl agreed.

Their misunderstandings aside, they settled down to talk more openly. Although neither had realised it, they had been looking for someone else to fill a place in their world they had not even know existed.

* * *

In a corridor above them, Njáll once more followed Hywel.

"You are taking me to see the King this time, correct?" the Dwarf asked the faun.

He did not respond. Njáll raised his eyebrows and tried a few more times to garner a response and each one was met with a stony silence.

Eventually they reached a pair of double doors flanked by guards so Njáll was reasonably confident that he was not about to be ambushed by angry Narnians again.

Hywel knocked on the door before opening it and leading Njáll into the Royal Apartments.

"Njálabrik Iceguard to see you, sire," he said.

"Thank you, Hywel," Caspian said. "You can go."

"Sire," the faun said, bowing his head. He turned and left, never once making eye contact with Njáll. The Low King decided to let it slide. Instead, he moved further into Caspian's apartment and took the armchair the King offered him.

"Dr Cornelius and Isadora would rather I did not speak to you alone but I feel we will make more progress without others trying to jump into our discussion," Caspian said. He offered Njáll a cup of tea but the Black Dwarf shook his head.

"Tórví thinks the same but I must agree with you," he said as Caspian sat in one of the other chairs. "Is this Dr Cornelius the half-dwarf we've heard rumour of?"

Caspian nodded, watching Njáll closely. Something flashed behind his eyes but his face remained impassive and he did not speak a word.

"Shall we begin?" Caspian asked eventually. "Why do you only reach out to us now? Where were the Dwarfish soldiers when I wrenched my crown from my uncle's grasp? Where were you when we fought the Ettins?"

Njáll shifted uncomfortably in his seat as Caspian regarded him over steepled fingers, awaiting his answer. He had no idea if the King was aware of last night's shenanigans or whether Caspian was simply that attentive.

"I may be the currently elected leader of the Dwarfs, sire, but I have very little true executive power. That belongs to the thirteen Elder Families and they decreed that we were to sit tight and wait until you truly showed your hand," he said slowly.

"You can do that?" Caspian asked. "Just lock yourselves away from the rest of Narnia?"

"Our city lies against what in the Common Tongue is known as the Deep Chasm," the Black Dwarf said. "The mountain range folds over the top, protecting us from the outside elements, and the Chasm extends down into the ground. For centuries, pretty much from the dawn of Narnia, the Dwarfs have lived in the Chasm in peace and security. We have ventured out into Narnia as we have needed and we have mined the ores and jewels in the Chasm's walls."

"But something has now changed?" Caspian said. Njáll nodded gravely.

"We've never needed to explore to the bottom of the Chasm," he explained. "Its walls are even today still so rich that we have not needed to venture down more than a few leagues. The Chasm is so deep that, even at the furthest depths of our excavations, it is still impossible to see the bottom. Yet, something is down there; we are sure of it. The Elder Families are loath to tell the public; they did not even want me to inform you.

"But you are our King, even if you aren't a Dwarf, and you must be made aware of Dwarfish matters. We are going to need your help; I can feel it in my very bones. This is a Dwarfish matter for now but soon I think it will be a Narnian matter."

"What would you have me do for now?" Caspian asked.

Njáll shrugged. "Be aware," he suggested. "As long as whatever is down there stays down there then I am content to let it be. I just want your promise that, should anything happen, you will seal whatever it is beneath the mountain – even if that means sealing us in too."

"Why would I do that?!" Caspian exploded. "Your people may be a different race to me but they are still _my_ people too! I would never leave them to die!"

"Even if it would stop an ancient evil leaking forth into the rest of Narnia?" Njáll said, raising one bushy eyebrow. "Your loyalty does you credit, your Majesty, but don't let it cloud your judgement."

He paused for a moment. "I don't want to be sealed away in the darkness any more than the next dwarf," he continued in a low tone, "but if it saved Narnia then I would bring down the rockfall myself. Whatever is down there should stay there; I cannot stress that enough. A Dwarf does not fear the Darkness, sire, but the darkness at the bottom of the Chasm terrifies me."

"Enough to resurrect the White Witch?" Caspian asked, remembering the plot conjured by Nikabrik – Njáll's kin.

Njáll sat back in his seat and narrowed his eyes. Caspian watched the dwarf closely as he weighed the options in his mind.

"Aye," he said eventually. "If it came to it. Between the Evil we have known and the Unknown, I'd take the Witch's cruelty over that thing in the Chasm any day."

The young king fell silent for a moment. A great sorrow passed over his face but if anything it made him look younger and more naïve than he actually was.

"Would you really just submit? I know how it feels to stand in the Witch's presence and it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. If I was to submit to her, I could never say that I was a King," he said slowly.

"You call me King," Njáll said coldly after a pause. "My people call me _Rhuzhaakm_ but that word does not translate into your tongue. I am no true King; only a puppet of my people."

* * *

Matters were discussed. Deals were made. Most of the topics discussed that day would be kept strictly between Caspian and Njálabrik until their respective deaths but eventually an understanding was reached between them. When Njáll finally left the royal apartments, he felt far more settled than he had before.

This time with Hywel following him like an errant shadow, he met his sister and together they wandered back towards their rooms.

As they climbed the staircase from the main keep to the Western Tower, Njáll turned to the faun behind them with a roguish grin.

"I think we can manage by ourselves now, thank you Hywel," he said.

Hywel stared up at him blankly but then bowed his head and turned and left.

"Remind me to press him about why exactly he is so indifferent towards me," Njáll said to Tórví – in Dwarfish lest the faun overhear them. She gave him a pained look.

"So the meeting went well?" she said, continuing their previous conversation.

"Indeed," he replied. "He certainly shows promise and I am sure he will help us if we need it."

They reached the top of the stairs and turned into the corridor off which their rooms lay.

Two Telmarines were approaching them; a young man and woman about the same age as His Majesty and Lady Isadora. They were deeply engaged in conversation and barely noticed the two dwarves.

Tórví, however, did notice them and immediately switched to a defensive stance. Her hands went to the axe on her belt and she shouted a warning to her brother in Dwarfish. Njáll took one look at them before drawing his dagger.

"Halt!" he commanded. "What are you doing here?"

The human pair stopped and examined them coolly.

"We weren't aware that this corridor was out of bounds while the dwarves were staying here," the girl said eventually. "Apologies."

Njáll grinned. "Nice try. I mean, what are you doing in this castle? We know you are no friend to Narnia."

"How so?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"The Jagged Pass through the Western Escarpment passes right underneath one of our outposts. We have been watching you come and go for years," he said. His face darkened. "No-one from Narnia knows about the Jagged Pass and your kind always makes sure to avoid Highpeak and the other Telmarine settlements."

The man burst out laughing at his words and turned to his companion. He said something in a strange tongue neither Njáll nor Torví understood, all the while still giggling. His female counterpart did not bat an eye-lid but she did reply in the same strange language.

"Surely a little exploring does not make us enemies?" she said in the Common Tongue.

"Maybe… but we have watched for years. We know with whom you meet and we know that you are no friend to us," Njáll said. The man stopped laughing instantly and both the humans also shifted into defensive positions.

The girl said something again in the foreign language, a note of urgency creeping into her voice. The man replied slowly. His eyes flicked quickly between Njáll and Tórví and the weapons in their hands.

"As it happens, our business here is concluded," the mystery man said evenly. "We shall withdraw."

They both back away slowly. Njáll took a step towards them; his face as dark as a thunderstorm.

"You may return the way you came but if we see you on the Jagged Pass again then we will cut you down before you could even register that we were there," he said.

"Why not kill us now?" the girl asked.

"I want you to tell your masters that we are watching and you can't very well do that if you are dead now, can you?" he said. "Now go, before I change my mind."

They exchanged a look and then turned back the way they had come; running towards the servant's stair at the other end of the corridor.

"The Families won't approve," Tórví warned him.

He walked a little way down the corridor and picked up something that had fallen from the man's pocket. A single feather; as black as coal. He turned it over in his hands.

"The Families don't have a choice," he said. "We are the King's Dwarfs now - and we need to protect Narnia from her enemies."

* * *

 **Apologies for the delay with this chapter - I recently started a new job and it is tiring me out.**

 _ **But**_ **I have been doing some planning. _Flames_ can essentially be broken down into four main arcs:  
1) This visit from the Dwarfs  
2) A currently mysterious arc  
3) A second mysterious arc**  
 **4) The Voyage of the Dawn Treader**

 **And we are coming to the end of Arc 1... :D (Although it is the shortest arc)  
**

 **The face claim list on my profile has been updated to include Njáll, Tórví, and our mystery man and woman. And please do tell me what you think of the latter two; I've been dropping hints all over as to who they are, hehehe.  
**

 **Thank you to Wildhorses1492 and TortoisetheStoryteller for your kind words as always. Please leave me a review and I will see you all in the next chapter!**


	9. Teuchach

To celebrate the rekindled relationship between the Dwarfs and the Narnians, a grand ball had been organised for the final night of the Dwarfish visit. Since Isadora was now entertaining a tentative friendship with Tórví, she had invited the latter to her rooms to get ready. It was a ritual she had gone through many times before with various girlfriends throughout the years and it had only made sense to her to now extend the same courtesy to her new friend.

"I'm a little unsure which dress to wear tonight," she said to Tórví, swinging open the doors to her wardrobe.

Tórví's eyes widened as she beheld the row upon row of dresses for all occasions.

"I've never seen so many dresses, never mind worn one before," she said, stroking her hands along the skirts. "They aren't very practical in the Chasm and… well, they tend to be thought of as _teuchach_."

"I've been hearing that word a lot recently…" Isadora said.

Tórví looked down at her feet. "It… it isn't the nicest word," she admitted. "The best translation into the Common Tongue I can think of is " _bare-faced"._ "

"Bare-faced?" Isadora frowned. Her fingers absently touched her own bare cheeks as she could not help but stare at the dark hairs on Tórví's chin.

Tórví sat down carefully on the edge of Isadora's bed.

"When the Telmarines invaded Narnia, most of the Old Narnians went underground – as you know," she explained. "The Dwarfs withdrew into the Deep Chasm and while most live in contentment; some long to live beneath the Sun. Our races are so similar that most Dwarfish men may pass un-noticed amongst the humans but… well, bearded ladies will cause quite a bit of attention. To pass as humans they need to shave; they need to go bare-faced; they must give up an integral part of their Dwarfishness and thus they are considered _teuchach_."

She looked very uncomfortable with the whole notion. "The Elder Families tend to reject these particular Daughters of Earth… and quite often they are cast from our city and never allowed to return. Originally it was once just the Daughters but the term has now extended to include their sons and the few Sons of Earth like Trumpkin who have left us."

"You just ostracise anyone who wants to leave?" Isadora said, sitting down next to her.

"The Elder Families are rather old-fashioned. Archaic, even," she said a little lamely. "Njáll was given more freedoms than I but that has resulted in him falling more in line with their beliefs. I was always expected to behave a certain way and it has always made me pine for what I could not have."

She recalled the few times she had snuck away from the safety of the Chasm with Trumpkin or Nikabrik. She had never wanted to stray as widely as they did but she had journeyed far enough to meet some of the hidden Narnians such as Trufflehunter.

"Have you lost someone?" Isadora asked gently.

Tórví bit her lip and then nodded.

"An aunt, a few friends," she said. "All because they could not find a husband in the Chasm, or because they fell in love with a Son of Adam… And, well, Trumpkin of course."

Isadora laid her hand across Tórví's as the Dwarf looked down at floor. Many emotions flickered across her face until she eventually raised her head and stared up at Isadora's dresses again.

"Can I borrow a dress tonight?" she asked. "You have done so much to welcome us so I think we should do something in return. Besides, I've always wanted to wear one."

"Are you sure?" Isadora frowned. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Don't worry about me. This is my decision," she replied, her eyes flashing even as her mouth curved into a warm smile.

Isadora smiled back and then called to Cloe. Her maid looked over from the corner of the room where she had been sorting her mistress's jewellery.

"Cloe, could you possibly go and hunt out some of my sister's dresses that were placed into storage?" Isadora asked her. "If you cannot find any, please go ask Lady Casales to see if she has anything suitable."

Cloe nodded her blonde head and then trailed off towards the door, humming a small melody of her own invention as she went. She had been singing it for quite some time as she went about her business around the castle and it always warmed Isadora's heart to hear.

"Should I wear my hair up or down tonight?" she asked, turning back to Tórví.

The Dwarf was sitting quite still on her bed; her mouth slightly open and her eyes far away.

"Tórví?" Isadora asked tentatively and she blinked rapidly.

"Sorry… I thought… I just lost my train of thought," she said. "Wear your hair down. You look a bit… severe with your hair up."

* * *

" _Lady Orellana-Scythley of Meadowholt,"_ the herald announced as Isadora entered the Great Hall. There was a small scattering of applause to welcome her but she barely noticed. As she glided across the room, accepting a goblet from a passing servant, she found her eyes wandering and searching for a familiar face. She scanned all the faces around her, both Narnian and Telmarine, but she could not find who she was searching for.

Pausing at the peripheries of the room, she brought the goblet to her lips and took a long sip.

Her eyes flitted around the room a final time. They fell on the dark curls of a young Telmarine girl crossing the room to join a friend. She smiled and opened her mouth to call out before the girl turned slightly at some other call and Isadora realised that she did not even know her name.

Then it hit her, she had been looking for Ghaliya. Her sister had just turned old enough to attend the court functions before she had left.

It had been almost a year since her family had passed through the Door in the Tree but she was still having these moments where she thought she saw them. No matter how much she insisted that she was fine, no matter how much she tried to bury her feelings, she missed them terribly. Something was missing from her life and her heart was aching for the space to be filled.

And suddenly Caspian was beside her but something was different; he was the King, not her Cas and his mouth was moving and he was smiling down at her but she had no clue what he was saying and she didn't know how to respond-

The crowd shifted and she saw Tórví standing proud in her borrowed dress. The dwarf looked around, sensing her gaze, and smiled at her. That tiny gesture from one who was only a short time unwilling to give her the time of day gave her just a tiny ledge to grab and she stopped herself tumbling into the abyss.

She laughed at some quip Caspian made and turned her attention to further grounding herself back in the party and back in reality.

She could hear her cousin still giggling at his little joke, she could feel the cold, smooth metal of her goblet, she could taste the sharpness of the berries in her wine (not too different from her father's favourite, a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her), she could smell spices – cinnamon, nutmeg, saffron-

She could see directly across the ballroom to the buffet and the lone figure who stood there. Unlike most balls which were preceded by a banquet, Caspian had decided to lay out a buffet so guests could help themselves to food as they required it. There was a girl standing beside it now with a plate in her hands; a plate she was heaping high with all the tastiest titbits she could find.

Clearly she was a servant who had snuck up to help herself. She was dressed in a pair of brown trousers tucked into riding boots and a sandy coloured jerkin unlike everyone around her in their finery.

Isadora sighed and made her excuses to Caspian. In a few quick strides she had swept across the hall to confront the girl.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked the strange girl, hands on hips. The girl looked around, bread roll sticking out of her mouth, and stared at her. She bit through the roll and chewed it with an insolent grin.

"I want your name. Hywel will not be pleased with you; I would not be surprised if this ends in your dismissal," Isadora continued.

The girl sniggered and turned her attention back to the buffet.

"Your name?" Isadora asked again.

"Do you want me to handle this, Dor?" a new voice said. She turned and saw Lorrin approaching them.

"I'm managing fine, thank you," she said, a little more curtly than she intended.

Lorrin raised his eyebrows and then grinned at her. The little smirk that he had inherited from his father; the one that always made the hair rise on the back of her neck and send a shiver down her spine.

"Trust me, I'll take care of her," he said, his smirk widening, and for a moment she stood not before Lorrin, her friend, but before a Sopespian; the family her mother had always warned her were the most cunning and sly at court.

"If you are sure," she mumbled and turned and left them. As she paced away, she looked back over her shoulder. Lorrin had gripped the girl's elbow and was talking to her with anger rippling across his face. The stranger peeked up at him through her lashes and smiled impishly. He paused and raised his eyebrows at her as if expecting an answer. Instead she merely laughed and pushed the other half of her roll into his mouth.

Isadora had travelled halfway across the room while watching them but she stopped and made to turn back at the girl's impudent display.

The crowd shifted and she lost sight of them only for everyone to move again to reveal Njáll storming towards her with an expression that could curdle milk.

"I trust you are the cause of my sister's… appearance this evening," he snarled.

"Lady Iceguard chose her outfit of her own volition," Isadora said evenly. "I merely helped her fulfil her wish to bring our peoples together."

Njáll's face, already flushed from wine and a slightly too tight collar, became a lovely shade of claret. He opened his mouth, presumably to snap at her again, but all that emerged from his throat was an angry croak. He hooked a finger into his collar and wiggled it back and forth in a desperate attempt to clear his airways a little.

By good fortune, Trumpkin magically appeared from the depths of the crowd. Isadora shot him a slightly panicked signal for help and he took the hint.

" _M'u Rhuzhaakm,_ " he said, inclining his head to Njáll, who turned a further ugly shade of purple.

" _U teuchach,"_ the Low King snarled back.

Isadora tried to think of something to say as the two dwarfs faced each other; Njáll with a face of thunder and Trumpkin with a small self-assured smirk. This meeting had been long delayed and she trembled to think she had to stand witness to it.

* * *

 **Hello, apologies for the terrible delay. :)**

 **I hope you've enjoyed the chapter and I'll try to have the next one out as quick as I can.**


	10. Heart Flutters

Isadora blinked and looked between the two dwarfs. Years of etiquette lessons flitted through her head but nothing helpful presented itself; quite possibly because her prim and proper Terebinthian etiquette tutor would never dream of having to settle hostilities between two dwarfs.

Njáll began to snarl at Trumpkin in a stream of Dwarfish. The latter took it all in his stride, raising his eyebrows and nodding along sagely, before glancing quickly between Isadora and Njáll with increasing faux-concern.

"You know, it is generally considered polite to speak in a language we can all understand when in a public scenario," he said mildly. "You are being very rude to Lady Orellana-Scythley."

Njáll made a curious rattling noise that didn't sound like it would be possible through human windpipes.

"You always were arrogant!" he said through gritted teeth. "Here you stand before your elected _Rhuzhaakm_ and you have no respect, no decency, and you have clearly forgotten your place!"

"Not forgotten, Njáll, just acquired a new one," Trumpkin replied. "Times have changed outside the Chasm."

"So I can see," Njáll said stiffly. "Less than a week outside our home's walls and even Tórví has been corrupted."

"Bit of a harsh conclusion," Trumpkin said. "She's wearing a dress; it's not the end of the world."

Isadora could not help but wonder if Trumpkin was attempting to goad Njáll into a fit. If the Low King swelled any further then he was in serious danger of exploding. She cast about for more help and managed to catch Tórví's eye. The Dwarf recognised the universal cry for help in her new friend's eyes and quickly joined them.

"Is there a problem, brother?" she asked.

Njáll turned on her and again began to spit and growl in Dwarfish.

Her face took on a careful blankness and then she snapped a short, sharp phrase in her mother tongue. Isadora could obviously never hope to understand the words but she recognised the tone and the hairs rose on the back of her neck to hear it. She had feared the day her mother would use that tone, had run from her grandmother when she heard it in the distance, and she could never imagine a day when she would use it.

Tórví stared her brother down for her one terrible moment and then turned to Trumpkin. In a flash, the Red Dwarf's cocky smile had vanished and he looked visibly troubled.

"Tórví!" he said with fake cheer radiating from him like a heavy perfume. "How are you doing? Quite well, I hope. And your mother; I hope she is in good health too."

His once-fiancée gazed at him with the same horrifying eye she had turned upon her brother until he too fell silent.

"We should talk," she said. "Is there somewhere private we can go?"

"It should be fairly easy to find somewhere," Trumpkin said. "Everybody will be busy here."

She nodded and looked back at Njáll with a raised eyebrow. "Anything to add, Njálabrik?" she asked coldly.

He stormed off into the crowds without a backwards look. Tórví broke character to slyly wink at Isadora and then led Trumpkin from the room. They eventually found their way to a window-seat in one of the upper corridors. Music drifted up from the Hall but they were quite alone and in no danger of being disturbed.

"How do you find the human clothes?" Trumpkin asked after a small pause.

Tórví looked down at her skirted lap and traced her hands over the fine material.

"Over-rated," she admitted. "I cannot for the life in me understand why Isadora spends her life in the things."

He smiled and the corner of her mouth twitched too.

"Why did you not return to the Chasm?" she asked.

"I was needed here," he said.

"But you didn't even send word," she said, her voice shaking. "A darkness is spreading through the Chasm and we need minds like yours to help us fight it."

"A darkness spread through the Chasm a long time ago," he said.

"Don't be so melodramatic!" she hissed, leaning forward. "Something wants to hurt us! That's why Njáll and I came here; to get help. The Elder Families are all terrified. You have to come back to help."

He stared at her for the longest of moments.

"I thought you'd be angry with me," he said eventually.

"I am," she replied. "I am so angry, and so hurt, but some things are more important than the fact you jilted me. My entire way of life is at risk of being destroyed."

She stood and made to leave.

"Come back and help us; if not for any loyalty to us then for the love you once bore me," she said. "If you do then maybe… one day…"

She paused and looked away before simply saying, "I've missed you," as she walked back towards the ball.

* * *

Meanwhile, Isadora was trying not to go to pieces. No-one seemed to have noticed that little altercation she'd witnessed but it had not stopped her panicking. What's more, Tórví's use of The Tone had set her on edge and she was fully expecting the ghost of her grandmother, Queen Marisela, to sweep into the room and reprimand her for not wearing stockings again like she had when Isadora was a small child.

She focussed on the here-and-now instead and glanced around her. The dancing had started by now and most of the guests were transfixed by those twirling in the centre of the hall. She could see Caspian dancing with the daughter of some minor landowner. The girl was blushing prettily; thrilled to be dancing with her king. Her father would no doubt be watching them and plotting some way to get her into Caspian's bed either on a temporary or permanent basis. It wouldn't be the first time the lords jostled in such a way to try to gain Caspian's favour but her cousin knew better than that and had been dancing out of their reach for years.

Isadora herself had avoided any such manipulation with her own adolescent escapades. It was well-known at court that Scythley would only have married her to a second son, as he had done with her mother, and no self-respecting family would have let any of their sons marry her with the reputation she had cultivated for herself.

Besides, she was now in control of her own fate. She would marry who she pleased and her current lifestyle did not have a place for a husband in it.

Across the ballroom she saw Lorrin standing alone. Although she had no romantic feelings, she had slowly begun to develop an almost sisterly affection for him. He was looking grumpy and nervous about something so she decided to go and drag him out onto the dancefloor for a little bit.

However, as she made her way towards him, someone else caught her attention instead.

"Lady Isadora? Forgive me for being so bold, but might I have this dance?"

His accent was strange; most definitely Telmarine but maybe the most Telmarine accent she had ever heard, as if someone was attempting a bad imitation. It was intriguing so she of course looked for the voice's owner. He was maybe a little older than Lorrin and very handsome. His clothes were simple but finely made and the hand he offered her had the usual tiny healed callouses and grazes from swordplay that were present on nearly every male in her life. He smiled and she felt her heart stir in a way she had not felt in a very long time, so she smiled too and accepted his hand.

"Forgive me, sir," she said as he led them onto the floor, "but although I feel I know your face I cannot place it nor your name."

He laughed and took her hand. This was one of the more stately Telmarine dances; the couple clasped their right hands together and then took careful, quick steps around each other. It had long been and still was a favourite of the court since it allowed for quiet conversations to take place with little chance of another couple overhearing.

"I'm just a traveller, my lady," he said. "I go where I am needed and wherever pretty girls need a dance partner."

She raised an eyebrow and tried not to smile at his obvious flirtation.

"How fortunate I am, sir, that you were able to save me tonight," she said drily.

He laughed, throwing back his head so his white teeth glinted in the candlelight.

"That's a pretty jewel," he noted suddenly. She glanced down having quite forgotten which of her necklaces she had grabbed from her jewellery box. It turned out to be her present from Father Christmas; the ruby on the golden chain. It also sat right above her cleavage and she had to fight not to roll her eyes. Obviously the conversation was not about to move towards her fashion choices.

"Thank you. It was a present from Father Christmas," she said. For some reason, he burst out laughing again.

"Father Christmas? Really?" he said between giggles. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! He left a note and everything."

"How lovely for you. Clearly your faith is unshakable," he said. Something in his tone and his words made her look up at him and she became caught in his gaze. Their conversation halted as they became lost in each other's eyes.

Caspian had long escaped the simpering clutches of his dance partner in favour of a retreat to the peripheries of the room. He was intrigued by the stranger his cousin was dancing with and waved over Lorrin. His Lord and friend seemed as distant as ever but he approached his King and inclined his head. Caspian gave him a side-long glance; he had the same face he'd had all evening, a face like minotaur's rear-end.

"Do you know who that is dancing with Isadora?" he asked him. Lorrin looked out into the ballroom and tried his hardest to keep his face grumpy but impassive.

"Never, sire," he lied. "Must be a newcomer at court."

Caspian, momentarily satisfied, moved away to talk with another. Lorrin was left alone save for his rapidly rising feelings of panic. He watched as the dance ended and the stranger bent to kiss Isadora's hand.

His task complete, he left Isadora in the centre of the ballroom and headed towards a door. He caught Lorrin's eye as he passed him and could not help but wink. Lorrin's mouth twitched and his face took on an ugly red colour but he did not say anything, as the stranger predicted.

Far too much was at stake for the Lord of Beruna to blow it all with a public reprimand and they both knew it.

Whistling a jaunty tune, he sauntered out into the gardens.

"That was risky," his companion's voice said from above as he passed by a particular tree.

"A risk worth taking," he sighed, turning back to the lights of the party.

"Oh, you old romantic," she replied drily.

From above came some small munching noises. He looked up, bemused, and made out her shape among the branches of a tree. In her hands he could just about see a plate heaped with food.

"So it is a risk for me to dance with Isadora but not a risk for you to raid the buffet?" he asked.

"Well, she did decide to have a word with me, nosy cow. And you can hush, I was in and out in about a minute; not dancing openly for all to see," she said. "Besides, I'm sick of rations."

He nodded. "True. And from up there you must have a spectacular view of Lor- _ow!"_

The plate smashed onto the flagstones beside him; she had quite deliberately dropped it onto his head, splattering his clothes with food and setting his head ringing.

As he staggered backwards and pressed his hands to his head, she leapt down from her perch with feline grace.

"Do you want to leave a feather behind?" she asked as he began to pick crumbs out of his hair, muttering furiously.

"No. The feathers are a bit too vague, I think," he said. "Father tends to get a little over-excited about theatrics and forgets the _substance_ behind the message."

"So... what now?"

"We make our move. I think it's time we pay a visit to Redhaven."

* * *

 **Ooh, this chapter was nearly the death of me. However, now it is done! And things are just about to get interesting, wouldn't you say? I'm so excited for you to read what is coming next!**

 **As always, thank you to Wildhorses1492 for your kind review of the previous chapter.**

 **See you next time, folks!**


	11. Redhaven Falls

The seasons marched on.

As Spring gave way to the warmth of Summer, the court journeyed to the Eastern coast and watched as Caspian laid the first stone that would eventually become Cair Paravel once more. It would be vaguely habitable in a few years but construction would be continuing for a very long time.

From there, they progressed around the country. The wars of the previous year had prevented the peoples of Narnia meeting their new monarch and a tour was long overdue. They visited all the Telmarine towns and village - from Ettinsmoor in the North to Langthwaite almost at the Archenland border - and all the once-secret Narnian settlements - the Dryad court, the centaur and minotaur herds - culminating in a grand festival on Midsummer's Eve at the Dancing Lawn.

Isadora, with gardenias trailing from her hair like a maiden at her first fête, span and danced with so many that they became a blur of faces. However, there was one who was definitely not there. The handsome stranger who had danced with her all those months ago. In fact, she hadn't seen him since that night and she was beginning to wonder if he had maybe been some odd invention of her mind.

After the fun of the summer, they returned to the old castle and back to their everyday lives.

But with the turn of the leaves and the return of the autumnal rains came sorrow.

A message arrived. Ealdwine Kron, the Duke of the Seven Isles and a staunch supporter of the Orellana family, had fallen ill and was at death's door.

Caspian and Isadora were tied up with a particular difficult trade agreement with Terebinthia and so Lorrin was despatched to act as the King's representative. As both a Lord of the Council and the grandson of a Sevenese noble, he was perfect to act as an ambassador.

The night before he was due to leave, Isadora found herself in possession of a stack of documents that had to go to Redhaven with him. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to give them to her secretary to run to his office but for some reason she decided to take them to him herself.

As she approached, she overheard two quiet voices speaking in Sevenese. She lightened her tread as much as she could so they would not hear her approach and poked her head around the door frame.

Lorrin was at his desk and his mother, Pála, was on the floor beside him. She was clasping one of his hands in both of hers; tears running down her face as she whispered to him in her native tongue. He sighed and tried to pull his hand from hers but she refused to let go, instead pulling him closer to stroke his face.

She murmured something, pressing her forehead to his, but his face remained as impassive as ever. Frustration rippled across her face and she stood, spitting out one final Sevenese admonishment. She turned to leave but stopped when she saw Isadora lurking in the doorway. With a hasty curtsey, she swept on with tears streaming down her face again.

"Forgive my mother," Lorrin said. "Ealdwine was like an uncle to her growing up and she was very upset to hear the news of his illness."

"Is she accompanying you to Redhaven?" Isadora asked, stepping into the small room.

"No. She wants to remember him how he was and not how he might be. Besides, the year is marching on and the seas are becoming rough," he said absently.

Isadora frowned; she was certain Pála had visited Redhaven at this time of year before. While most Telmarines felt seasick on the calmest of waters, the Sevenese were made of sterner stuff and happily sailed in seas that would turn the hardiest of Southern sailors pale.

She decided to let it slide and placed the dossier on Lorrin's desk.

"Some final things for you to take with you," she said. "I hope your journey is smooth."

He said nothing; although a crease of worry appeared between his eyebrows. He looked exhausted, far more so than he should.

"Lorrin, are you alright?" she asked.

He flicked his eyes up to hers, blue into brown, but did not answer.

* * *

The ambassadors from Terebinthia left in the next week and, inevitably, new issues presented themselves. The Council were most certainly always kept busy and, as Caspian's right-hand, Isadora was one of the busiest. Everyone seemed to need her and need her now. She was sent running here and there all over the castle and beyond, often riding out for the day to visit another township and returning late at night.

Between the Missing Seven and Lorrin's absence, the Lords were stretched so thin that - for the briefest of moments – Isadora feared that this would be the end of them.

Not by the rebel's sword, but by bureaucracy's hammer.

Then, as quickly as the problems had appeared, they were resolved.

The court settled down once more and life became as easy as it currently could be. Until, that is, the black-rimmed envelope arrived. The Council gathered to hear its contents; although they all knew what was inside.

It fell to Cornelius to read it.

" _My fellow Lords and friends,"_ he read. " _It grieves me to inform you of the passing of the esteemed Ealdwine Kron, the tenth Duke of the Seven Isles. His Grace was well-loved by all his people and they have mourned his loss and celebrated his life. In particular, his leadership and courage during the Calormene Conflict have oft been mentioned and his key involvement in the Battle of Weather's Bridge is to be immortalised in song; as is the custom for the heroes of the Sevenese._

" _His Grace is succeeded by one child; a son named Eilif who is in his fifteenth year. As decreed by the Telmarine laws that govern the Islands, Eilif may not take his father's title of Duke until he is twenty-one. However, Sevenese law has no such limitations and so he has been sworn in as Jarl of Brenn as is his right of birth. This ceremony was witnessed by myself, the other Jarls including my grandfather, and a number of other officials. I will provide a complete list in my report when I return to Beaversdam._

" _May Aslan grant the Duke safe passage to His Country, and may He bless Jarl Eilif._

" _Lorrin Sopespian, Lord of Beruna, Guardian of the Axe of the River's Run, and in this time of mourning, Son of the Sevenese. Long Live Eilif, and Long Live the King."_

"Aslan bless them," Caspian said after a short pause. "Dr Cornelius, please prepare a letter of commiserations on my behalf."

The Council dispersed. Isadora returned to her office and to her work. Cloe dropped by with some dinner and after she decided to take a small walk in the gardens to clear her head. The autumn nights were closing in cold and crisp but she wrapped an old shawl around her shoulders and happily stepped out into the dusk.

Everything was very still on this particular evening. Quiet and still. Even the noise from the castle seemed diminished and muted. She walked down the familiar paths and slowly pushed every thought of work from her mind.

She paused for a moment and took a deep breath. Everything was peaceful.

Suddenly, she became aware of a small wheezing noise coming from the next path over.

A small bird was lying splayed on the flagstones. Its white chest was rising and falling rapidly and its black wings were convulsing almost as if it was still in flight. She knelt beside it carefully – not wanting to startle it – and reached out a tentative hand. A little black eye snapped open and its beak – curved and tri-coloured in black, red, and yellow – twitched.

"Help…"

Isadora gasped; this was a Talking Bird who had crash-landed and it was clearly injured.

Quickly she had it nestled safely in her shawl and she ran for the castle and for help.

"Isadora, whatever is the matter?" Trufflehunter asked, appearing in answer to her calls. She was so relieved to see him; if anyone knew how to help a Talking Beast it would be another.

"I found him outside," she said, kneeling before the badger to show him her precious cargo.

"Hello," Trufflehunter muttered, gently running his paws over its trembling body. "What are you doing so far from home?"

"I've never seen a bird like it. Is it going to die?" she asked.

"No, no, I do not think so although he is in shock," he replied, taking the bird from her. "He's a puffin; one of the native species of the Seven Isles. Flying this far is no difficult feat for them but he's completely exhausted. He must have gone through some awful trauma."

"The Seven Isles?" Isadora said, the hairs rising on the back of her neck. First the loss of the Duke and now this strange visitation from this bird.

"Aye, lass," Trufflehunter said, making to leave. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll make a full recovery."

The little bird was taken to the infirmary and nursed back to health by Trufflehunter and a fussy Owl named Gloommantle who hooted irritably whenever a human healer neared. After a few days, Caspian and Isadora were sent for. The strange little bird had recovered enough to talk to them and there was a reason it had crash-landed in the middle of the castle.

When they entered, he was sitting happily on a cushion by a window. His wings were folded close to his sides and his orange feet were tucked underneath his white breast quite like how a duck sat.

"My King," he said in a trilling voice as Caspian sat down. "I am sorry for intruding on your hospitality in such a manner and I must apologise to Lady Isadora for the way she found me and thank her for her speed in taking me here."

"It is of no concern. Please, tell us who you are and why you felt the need to come here," Caspian said.

"My name, sire, is Featherflip. I belong to the White Cliff Colony from the cliffs around Redhaven on the Island of Brenn," the Puffin said. "And I regret, sire, that I bring the most horrific news. I bring news of treachery."

* * *

They listened intently as Featherflip told his tale. Some months ago, a group of Telmarines had arrived in Redhaven under the guise of merchants. They had been granted an audience with the late Duke but Ealdwine had angrily turned them away when he discovered their true intentions; they wanted to him to incite a rebellion against the Orellana rule and restore the Sevenese crown.

It chilled Isadora's heart to hear. They were lucky that Ealdwine, like most of his family, were supporters of the Orellana family. So many others most likely would have jumped at the chance to usurp power but it appeared these enemies had approached the one person who would never turn traitor.

However, Ealdwine had failed to expel them from the city. Featherflip explained that someone else had given them shelter and hidden them from the Duke's men.

"Do you know who?" Caspian asked.

Featherflip shook his head. "All you humans look mighty similar," he confessed. "It was a middle-aged man with shaggy black hair and a sour expression but we don't know his name. We knew the Duke and his family for they allowed us to nest in the cliffs above the Palace and we know one of the Jarls for he has always been good to us Birds and talks to us as equals and not flying pests. All the others blur into one."

Caspian and Isadora exchanged a look and then bade him continue.

It transpired that this mysterious group of Telmarines had remained concealed in the house of their associate all through Ealdwine's decline. As the city remained inside their homes mourning his loss, they struck. They rushed the Citadel, took Ealdwine's heir Eilif hostage, and took control of the city.

Caspian had turned white as Featherflip wrapped up his story.

"Our colony witnessed it all from our nests and a group of us decided to go for help. Some of my brothers were to go to the other six Islands and I, as our swiftest flyer, was selected to come to you. However, the humans must have been talking about us and as we set off… as we set off a volley was fired from the city walls. My brothers fell and I am surprised I passed through unharmed. Next thing I recall, Lady Isadora had found me in your gardens," he said.

As he fell silent, Caspian sat forward and put his head in his hands.

"We need to make contact with Lorrin," he said eventually. "He's our best hope of knowing what is going on in there."

He stood.

"Thank you, Featherflip, for risking your life to bring us this news," he said. "Stay and rest, for as long as you like."

Isadora tried to reach out for him as he walked past her but he shied away from her touch and strode from the infirmary with purpose. His shoulders were firmly set and his face was once more that of the King and not of her Caspian.

* * *

An urgent letter was sent to Redhaven and they waited with bated breath for Lorrin's response. As they waited, they heard horrible rumours. Every ship that had tried to dock at Redhaven had been turned away. If they had a cargo it was unloaded in the docks and the sailors were sent on their way without ever leaving the wharves. The once vibrant and bustling city had become a ghost-town.

Eventually the letter returned. It had clearly been opened and read and it came with a reply.

 _We reject the rule of those who have strayed from the Eagle's Path._

Caspian flew into a rage that threw Isadora back to the How and back to when she had refused to believe her father's role in Caspian's flight. Unlike then, she was able to calm him and talk him out of his anger. This reply was not written in Lorrin's hand; he was probably fine and biding his time.

Then she saw the object that had also been included with the reply and Caspian watched as all the colour drained from her face.

Before long, Lorrin's office had been ransacked and his drawers had been forced open by the castle locksmith. Caspian and Isadora sat together on the floor of the office and stared at the evidence before them.

"I trusted him," Caspian said through gritted teeth. "I was willing to overlook his father's actions and see him as a man in his own right but the apple clearly never rots far from the tree."

Isadora stared at the feather in her hand. An eagle's feather; long and black.

This was the one that had come from Redhaven. In a drawer of Lorrin's office, they had found many more. No incriminating letters or documents, no carefully hidden plans, but it was enough to plant the suspicion in their minds that the Lord of Beruna had turned against them.

"If he has betrayed us then I'll kill him," Caspian said thickly.

"No," Isadora said, leaning back against Lorrin's desk. "I've always been suspicious of Lorrin but I kept my tongue and told myself I was being foolish. He's betrayed my friendship and my trust and the promise we made to not follow our fathers; paths. I want to be the one to kill him, if it comes to it."

 **Ooh-hoo-hoo, Lorrin, what are you up to? :D**

 **And here we are, into the second act of _Flames_. The storyline with the Dwarves will resurface, let me assure you, but for now we can turn our attention to Redhaven.**

 **Thank you to TortoisetheStoryteller for your review last chapter. As always, guys, leave me a review with your thoughts!**


	12. We Do Not Submit

The swiftest of Narnian birds were dispatched to scout the Seven Isles to fully confirm Featherflip's tale. They conversed with the other Puffins of the White Cliffs Colony, as well as the non-Talking birds of the Isles, and flew home with the gravest of news.

It was all true. Redhaven was now in the control of a mysterious group of Telmarines.

Caspian and Isadora listened to Swiftwing the Falcon gravely as he told them how the city had retreated inside itself and now lay silent and cold against the White Cliffs. Worse, Swiftwing knew Lorrin by sight and confirmed that he had seen the Lord of Beruna conversing with the invaders in a manner that suggested that he was not against them.

It sent the cousins spiralling once more in disbelief and gut-wrenching betrayal. As Caspian stalked back and forth, ranting incessantly, Isadora sat curled up on a couch and thought back on her brief friendship with Lorrin. He had once told that they were fighting for the same cause, at a time when she did not know who she herself was truly fighting for, and she had believed him. She had trusted him and offered her help when he seemed overworked and stressed. It was simply inconceivable that he would turn against them and she felt as hurt as confused as she had been by Caspian during the Revolution.

"This is my fault," Caspian said weakly, flopping down beside her. "I should have gone to Brenn. I should have done my duty as a King instead of passing it off to another."

"Then the attackers would have you as well as Eilif," Isadora pointed out. "Lorrin may have aided them in this attack but I doubt he was necessary for the plan to go ahead. They had another associate already in Brenn, remember?"

Caspian looked troubled. "I want to go there," he said.

"Caspian," she said in a warning tone.

"We need to send help and I'll be damned if I send off someone again when I know I could help myself," he said, standing and striding from the room. "Someone send for Captain Swiftwing!" she heard him order as she ran after him.

"Caspian, this is madness!" she tried to reason but he silenced her with an angry wave of his hand. It was almost frightening to follow in his wake as he stormed through the castle. Was this how zealous he had been in the first days of the Revolution?

"Where is my ruddy Council?" he all but shouted as he ran down the main staircase.

They appeared, as if by magic, from whatever corners of the castle they had been in, and followed their King with some confusion to the Weapons Chamber. They stood assembled as he reached down his shirt for his own key chain and unlocked the door.

"Inside, now!" he barked as the door swung open and they all piled in quickly. He paused for a moment and stood aside to let Swiftwing swoop in and then shut and locked the door behind him.

He turned to face them. His anger had all but vanished, so quick that Isadora could not help but wonder if it was an act, and his face was now composed.

"My Lords," he said to the assembled room. "The situation in Redhaven is extrapolating at a rate that I am not comfortable with. Since this is one of the few rooms in the Castle which is truly private, I have gathered you all here to inform you that I mean to travel to the Seven Isles myself to aid them. I do not know whether I will encounter any resistance from the Sevenese themselves or whether I will be helped but I know in my heart that this is the path of action I must take and I would rather you advise me than attempt to dissuade me."

The Lords looked to each other in horror at his words. Isadora caught Trumpkin's eye for a moment and then returned to glaring at Caspian with arms folded. He was acting so erratically that she was almost afraid of what he would say next.

"Sire, this is most inadvisable," Glenstorm said. "If you wish to send a battalion to Brenn to aid them then that can easily be arranged."

"I don't want to make this a big invasion effort," Caspian said. "If anything, this should be a small, covert operation. I want to know exactly who this mysterious group is and where they have come from. There is not even to be a chance that they could escape. And, since we have reason to believe that Lord Sopespian has joined them, it will not be long before even Talking Animals will not be able to approach them. He will tell them of any advantages we think we have."

Here he turned to Swiftwing, who had perched atop the statue of the Black Eagle at the far end of the Hall, and bowed his head.

"Not to discredit the fine work of you or any of your scouts, Captain," he said, "but the window of opportunity in which we can use you is growing short."

"I understand, sire," Swiftwing said. "Is there anything we can do in the meantime?"

Caspian nodded and took a few steps down the Hall towards him. He paused in front of one weapon case in particular and Isadora took a few steps to the side to see which it was. As it happened, it was the Axe of the Ocean's Waves; one of the Weapons that still did not have an owner after its Lord was killed in the War of Deliverance. It was also supposed to be the Weapon that historically belonged to the Admiral but there had been no fleet for generations.

"Telmarines do not make good and hearty sailors," Caspian said, turning back to Swiftwing. "We have not maintained a navy for years for this very reason. Therefore there is no ship to take me to Redhaven. Find me one; even if you have to fly all the way to Tashbaan to do so."

"Your Majesty, I must protest against this plan!" Lord Casales said, stepping forward. "It would be foolhardy to send anybody into Redhaven at this time; and you are our King. You cannot expect us to let you go alone into this trap."

"He won't be alone," Isadora said. Caspian turned to her and the cousins stared each other down. She won, of course.

"Wherever Caspian goes, Isadora follows," she said, looking to the rest of the room. "This is how it has always been and it is my primary duty."

The Narnians in the room still did not appear happy but there was a change in the Telmarines; especially Lord Casales. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as they stared at her with fresh eyes. For once, she felt like they had complete faith in her. She pulled her shoulders back and stood a little taller. If she was to convince the Narnians then she needed to look as confident as she spoke.

"As you wish, your Majesty," Casales said. "If you desire to go to Redhaven then we will not stop you."

Caspian, having not noticed the shift in favour to Isadora, nodded and strode back towards the door. He unlocked it and left; continuing on in his frenzy. After a moment, Isadora followed and Swiftwing too glided out behind them.

The Narnians were left staring at the Telmarines but the three remaining Telmarine Lords did not notice.

Lord Casales walked towards the glass case that held the Bow. He reached out and pressed his fingertips to the glass although he could not open it. His own keys only opened the door to the Chamber and the case to his own Weapon, the Pike of the Farmers.

"Would you mind explaining why you are so happy to let our King go off into a serpent's den?" Glenstorm growled.

"He will be fine so long as Isadora is with him," Casales said absently.

"That is just an old wives' tale, surely," Holguín said, moving up to join the older Lord. "I've never thought it to actually be true."

"So did we all. I always thought Scythley was crazy but there was clearly some ring of truth in his obsessions," he replied.

"Would one of you please explain?" Trumpkin demanded.

Casales turned to the assembled Narnians. "I doubt any of you had much interaction with Lord Amancio Scythley, Lady Isadora's grandfather?" he asked.

"She speaks very highly of him but no, we never properly spoke with him," the Dwarf confirmed.

"Lord Scythley was obsessed with the Weapons and our connections to them," Casales said. "In particular with an old verse of ours."

He hesitated and glanced at Holguín and Oroitz.

"Who shall rule?" he asked.

"He of the Dirk," the pair of them answered immediately.

Casales took a few steps back towards of the centre of the Hall. "Who shall protect?" he asked.

"She of the Bow," they replied.

"Where shall they stand?"

"Upon the desert sands, the rising sun at their back."

"To whom shall they answer?"

The two other Telmarine Lords joined Casales in the centre of the Hall. Almost instinctually, the three of them turned to face the statue at the far end and, when they answered, all three answered as one.

"To each other alone, save for the Eagle of Feathers Black."

The Narnians looked at each other in the gathering silence.

"What does it mean?" Glenstorm asked. The three Telmarines looked at each other.

"In all honesty, we do not know. It very obviously refers to the First Caspian and Isadora, our nation's founders, but beyond that…" Oroitz said with a shrug.

"Scythley hypothesised that a bond existed between the owners of the Dirk and the Bow. While the owner of the Bow lives, the owner of the Dirk cannot be harmed. I would call it little more than a fairy-tale if I had not seen Isadora's willingness to selflessly protect Caspian with my own eyes," Casales said. "Wherever Caspian goes, Isadora follows, and as long as she does so then he will be safe."

"We cannot risk the safety of our King on belief in a fairy-tale," Trumpkin said.

Casales tore his eyes from the Eagle's statue and turned to face the Dwarf.

"You won one war with belief in your fairy-tales," he said coldly. "Maybe it is time for you to trust in ours."

* * *

Swiftwing and his scouts left immediately. They flew far and wide until they found a ship willing to take Caspian and Isadora to Redhaven. However, when they returned with the news, it was less than satisfactory.

"Sire, Bólivar and his men are pirates," Holguín said. "They mutinied against their previous captain and have been terrorising the coastline ever since."

"He is the only captain we spoke to who agreed to go to Redhaven. I did not mention who my Masters were, only that they had the gold to make it worth their while. They are currently sailing towards Easthaven as fast as the winds can carry them," Swiftwing reported.

Caspian did not look up from the papers littering the table he and Isadora were sitting at. "I'm sure Bólivar will help us just fine," he said.

"Sire-" Holguín tried to interject again but his King held up a hand and bid him leave. He did, grudgingly so - along with Swiftwing - and Caspian and Isadora were left by themselves once more.

"This is hopeless," Caspian sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. He cast an exasperated eye across their workload; any paper or scroll within the archive devoted to Brenn and Redhaven. "There used to be a detailed blueprint of the city streets; I remember us studying it with Dr Cornelius."

"Trufflehunter remembered it but he could not find it in the Archives," Isadora said. "The last person to check it out was Lorrin. He said his grandfather needed to borrow it."

Caspian made a face. "Of course he did. The more evidence we find of his treachery; the greater the fool I feel," he said.

"We should speak to his mother," Isadora said. "They are very close and I caught her berating him about something in Sevenese the night before he left."

She should have pushed him, a little voice in the back of her mind said. She should have pushed him until he said what he was so worried about. She could have prevented this all but she stood by and let him past.

He would not escape her again.

* * *

It did not take long for a guard to locate Pála for them. When she arrived, her face was stoic and calm. Dressed in her favourite grey dress and her blonde hair pulled back demurely from her face, she looked the picture of innocence. She refused the seat Caspian offered her, instead choosing to stand opposite them.

"Lady Sopespian," Caspian said calmly, leaning back in his chair. "No doubt you know by now what has occurred in your homeland."

Pála blinked at him. The corners of her mouth tightened but she did not speak a word.

"We also have reason to believe that your son is involved with what has transpired in Redhaven," Caspian continued.

Although she did not react, she did open her mouth.

"Am I under arrest?"

"No, no, of course not. Lady Orellana-Scythley and I just want to find out if you knew anything about Lorrin's business dealings."

She sniffed. "Lorenzo never let me know his business," she said. "Lorrin is the same."

Her blue eyes moved to Isadora and looked her up and down.

"Like father, like child," she added. Unnerved by her slight change to the saying, Isadora shifted in her seat.

"You seem very close to Lorrin," she noted.

"Just because I am close to someone does not mean I know their full affairs," Pála replied coldly.

"Why converse in Sevenese then, unless you are afraid of being overheard of course."

Two angry red spots appeared on her cheeks. "So I can't keep my own culture alive and well within my own family line?" she said through gritted teeth. "I speak Sevenese with Lorrin because we _both_ enjoy speaking in my language."

"Lady Orellana-Scythley wasn't suggesting any-" Caspian began but Pála overrode him angrily.

"No, she was!" she spat. "I've been treated this way for years when I've done nothing wrong! All I've been guilty of is trying to instil honest Sevenese morals in my son instead of this uptight, Telmarine, _bull!_ "

She made to leave in a swirl of angry skirts but thought better of it; turning back to them with a mournful gaze.

"I suppose your mothers never told the pair of you that we used to be friends," she said hollowly.

The cousins exchanged a look; they had known that their mothers had been closer than close as young women but Pála had never interacted with them beyond anything that of a mild acquaintance.

The older woman was nodding and holding back tears.

"They were my first friends here," she said miserably, "when I was shipped over. Eighteen, terrified, doomed to marry a man old enough to be my father. They were kind; they looked after me. I even saved their lives, once, believe it or not. You should have been raised alongside Lorrin; you should have been as close to him as you are to each other!"

Her brow furrowed and a tear slipped down her cheek. "And then they turned on me and left me alone when I did nothing wrong."

She looked angrily between the two of them.

"I don't know what Lorrin has done but he must be innocent; as I was," she said. "I know he is. Don't abandon him as quickly as your mothers abandoned me."

The door slammed behind her as she stormed from the room.

"Do you believe her?" Isadora asked.

"I think she's lying," Caspian said.

"About Lorrin or about our mothers?"

He chose not to answer that, instead bending over the parchments once more. She knew exactly why he didn't answer. He had been so young when his mother died and she had been ill for most of his life before that so she only existed as a figure of purity and kindness in his mind. Isadora understood why he would not want someone else to mar that image of her.

A pair of feet pounded along the corridor outside and Dr Cornelius burst through the door. His face was red and his glasses akimbo.

"Sire, another message has arrived from Redhaven!" he gasped, waving the letter cluttered in his hand. "It's from the Jarls!"

Caspian paled and he stood to take the paper from his old tutor.

"The Jarls? Who are they?" Isadora asked as her cousin unfolded the letter and began to read.

"The Jarls are the Lords of the Seven Isles," Cornelius told her. "They do not hold a lot of power under Telmarine law but their control and influence over their people is absolute. If they are with us it will make all the difference."

By now, Caspian had scanned the letter and he was beginning to nod.

"This is good; I think it is good news," he said.

"What does it say?" Isadora asked.

" _We are your Majesty's loyal servants. We do not submit,"_ he read. "And here, underneath, are four emblems and some more words but I don't know what they say or what these symbols are."

He passed the letter across to her and she examined them. A Sevenese ship upon a cresting wave, a pair of crossed axes, a mermaid, and a hammerhead shark had all been stamped upon the parchment under the note. Underneath were two words; _Til Valhall._

"Does his Majesty not recall his lessons?" Dr Cornelius asked. "These are the sigils of four of the Seven Isles; Muil, Unst, Flotta, and Eriska to be precise. The sigil of Brenn we can expect to be missing since Eilif is held captive but we must presume that the sigils of Canna and Wyre are missing because they have either submitted to or are possibly even working with the invaders."

"And the words?" Isadora asked.

" _Til Valhall._ Valhall is the Sevenese name for Aslan's Country where it is said the dead shall rise again to walk beside Him in eternal sunlight," the old tutor explained. " _Til Valhall_ means, quite simply, _To Glory._ They are ready to give their lives in battle for you. _"_

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 **No reviews on the last chapter? I'd have thought someone would have had something to say! :D  
**

 **Thank you to Wildhorses1492 for the small feedback you gave me.**

 **My Sevenese are decidedly Norse in influence (in fact they are a mix of Vikings, Chereks from _The Belgariad_ by David Eddings, and Nords from _The Elder Scrolls_ franchise, and of course the latter two of those are also based on the first) but the names of the Islands are not. C.S. Lewis only gave us the names of two of the Seven Isles, Brenn and Muil, so it falls to fanfiction authors to invent names for the other five. I chose lesser known Scottish islands, in homage to the country where I live. Canna and Eriska are in the Hebrides, Flotta and Wyre are in the Orkneys, and Unst is in the Shetlands. The Orkneys and the Shetlands were colonised by the Vikings at one point, so maybe these island names could be traced back to Old Norse - I've not looked into it.**

 **The list of Face Claims on my profile has been updated to include Pála so go take a look if you are that way inclined. I'm intending to write a prequel to _FaN_ which tells the story of Caspian and Isadora's parents and that will include exactly what Pála did to ostracise herself from their mothers. She might not be as innocent as she tells herself...**

 **Until next time! On to a fateful meeting with Captain Bólivar, and onwards towards Redhaven!**


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